


Hungry Like The Wolf

by BlatantBookworm



Category: Lunar Chronicles - Marissa Meyer
Genre: Angst, Character Development, Family, Friendship, Gen, Genetic Modification, Non-Graphic Violence, OCs - Freeform, Pack, Pre-Series, Trans Female Character, complicated family dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8238077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlatantBookworm/pseuds/BlatantBookworm
Summary: Wolf was in his pack for over ten years before he joined the Rampion. A fic exploring what that might have entailed, developing the characters of Ze'ev's pack mates, and the relationships bordering on friendships between fifteen highly trained weapons. 
Set throughout 'The Queen's Army' to 'Scarlet', plus an epilogue.





	1. Lost In A Crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ze'ev's first day in the pack, picking up where _Stars Above: Queen's Army_ left off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been forever since I've written anything, and so I thought Lunar Chronicles would be a good place to restart.
> 
> I might have put off posting this for a while, but for two things: a) I wanted to get this multi-chaptered fic finished before _Wires and Nerve_ comes out, because as much as I'm looking forward to it I have a strong feeling that more canon information on the lupine soldiers is going to break a lot of my headcannons, and b) if it's online I'm much less likely to mothball a project.
> 
> Also, the packs fascinate me. I always wondered why Wolf/Ze'ev was so special - why was he the only one who didn't want to be there? Why, out of five hundred boys forcibly conscripted, was Ze'ev possibly the only one who wanted to leave? Was it perhaps possible that he was the only one who actually got the chance?  
> That in mind, I wanted to develop the characters of his companions.
> 
> Disclaimer: The Lunar Chronicles belongs to Marissa Meyer, and I am making no profit off this.

**Chapter One: Lost In A Crowd**

 

Still woozy from the vicious kick Alpha Brock had delivered to his ribs, Ze’ev stumbled into line. The lunar soldiers, other than Brock, didn’t glance at him. They stared rigidly ahead, fists clenched to their hearts.

“You will soon learn that your placement in this pack is determined by strength, courage, and the ability to defend yourself,” Master Jael said, his eyes on Ze’ev. “You will not see such mercy again.”

Ze’ev averted his gaze, hoping that was what the thaumaturge wanted. Focused on a spot over Jael’s shoulder, he nodded once. He felt that he needed to do more and copied the gesture the other pack members used, placing a hand over his heart. Judging from the half smile Jael wore, it was an acceptable reaction.

“I trust you will teach your new brother how we train here,” Jael said lightly.

“Yes, sir.” The cry was unanimous throughout the pack.

“Good. I will leave you to become acquainted. Training commences at oh-six-hundred tomorrow.” Without another word Jael turned on his heel and walked off.

Ze’ev stayed at attention, his eyes flicking to the side to see if any of the others were moving. He noticed that no-one broke from their position until Brock did – who didn’t shift until the scent (and Ze’ev was still shocked that he was able to smell distance) of Jael disappeared.

Then, continuing to follow the alpha’s lead, everyone started crowding around Ze’ev.

 “So. Teach you,” Brock growled. He bent over slightly to look closer at Ze’ev, his face inches away from Z’s. “Lesson number one is to always obey Master Jael. If Jael’s not here, then you listen to me, got it?”

Ze’ev swallowed, and then nodded. The stinging in his ribs seemed to intensify. “Got it.”

“Good,” Brock stepped back.

“Welcome to the pack, Beta Kesley,” one of the other pack members said cheerfully. He grinned. Ze’ev hoped it was just the tooth implants that made it look menacing. “Being here doesn’t get any better.”

“Lobo, hush,” another operative said dismissively. “It won’t take long for him to know the basic rules.”

“Maybe we should start with the names, Beta Tsukino?” said a third operative. He folded his arms. “I’m Beta Gibbous Troya. This is Beta Masaru Tsukino, Beta Vanya Volkov, Beta Alex Rafe, Beta José Lobo, Beta Tristan Wynn, Beta Eclipse Garson, Beta Wane Becke, Beta Huang Liu, Beta Rille Baines, Beta Emil Katona, and Omega Aziz Sherazi. And you’ve already met Alpha Crater Brock.”

The names blurred together. Ze’ev blinked, trying to remember any of them, let alone to whom each name belonged.

“ _Beta_ Aziz Sherazi,” the smallest boy in the pack snapped furiously. He was at least an inch shorter than Ze’ev although he looked to be at least fourteen. “It’s Omega Katona.”

“Oh?” Gibbous Troya asked, almost bored. “When did that happen?”

“About two hours ago,” one of the other members said. Ze’ev tried to remember his name but couldn’t. “It wasn’t one of their more interesting fights.”

                                     

“Still, two weeks as a beta is probably Emil’s record, isn’t it?” Someone (Vanya something, Ze’ev thought) asked. He clapped another pack member (Katona?) on the shoulder. “Congratulations.”

The operative growled, shifting slightly to free his shoulder. Vanya shrugged.

“Katona and Sherazi are always switching who’s Omega,” another operative quietly informed Ze’ev.

“What’s Omega?” Ze’ev asked him, dropping his voice to a whisper.

Apparently he wasn’t quiet enough. Everyone glanced at him, and there were a couple of derisive snorts from the pack.

The operative Ze’ev was talking to didn’t change expression, but kept smiling kindly. “Omega is the opposite of Alpha. Bottom status.”

“You have to fight for your place around here,” the Beta that Ze’ev thought was José Lobo said. “Lesson number three is avoid being Omega. They’re the weakest.” Lobo smirked at Omega Katona, who bristled but held back.

Alpha Brock grunted. “Whatever. We should start training.” He glanced at Ze’ev. “After all, we need our newest member to be up to scratch before Jael comes back.”

Ze’ev hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he would be safest to obediently follow or not. Defiance seemed foolish, but there was a new instinct twisting his stomach, refusing to let him grovel.

After a moment Ze’ev lifted his head higher, meeting Brock’s gaze. “Okay,” he said, straight backed and trying not to let his voice waver. “Where do I start?”

He was delighted to notice Brock’s smirk turned into a slight smile.

**~**

He was cold, he was hungry, he was exhausted, and he was almost certain Brock had broken one of his ribs. Still, Ze’ev refused to complain as Brock led the pack through the training course.

They climbed monkey bars, sprinted along tracks, and mutilated punching bags. Despite his best efforts, Ze’ev constantly fell behind. Everyone else was stronger, faster, and quite simply knew what they were doing. Nevertheless, Ze’ev kept going.

Finally, _finally_ , Brock called a halt. Ze’ev sunk to the ground, gasping for air.

He was discouraged to notice that everyone else seemed fine. Several of the pack were breathing heavily, but most were simply relaxing. Alpha Brock didn’t seem to have even broken a sweat.

“Doing okay?” The relatively-kind operative that had explained about omegas asked, crouching next to him. Ze’ev guessed him to be about thirteen or fourteen years old, not too much older than him.

“I’m… I’m fine,” Ze’ev panted, despite his genuine fear he might cough out a lung.

“You did pretty well for your first time,” the beta said. “Don’t worry. It’ll get easier by the time we start doing the hard stuff.”

“The what stuff?”

“Half of the modifications won’t be noticeable for another few weeks,” the operative continued. “Once your body catches up to the science you’ll be better at this.”

Ze’ev was dreading more of the wolfish abilities to come up, turning him into more of a soldier and less of a boy. Still, he wouldn’t have mentioned it even if he had enough breath to do so.

It was encouraging that the other operatives looked mostly human. Other than deadly sharp teeth, Ze’ev couldn’t pick out anything that was too close to the monsters he’d seen on the hologram. He had noticed changes to his own body, but changes didn’t mean inhuman.

“I’m Eclipse.” The operative held out a hand. “Beta Eclipse Garson.”

“Ze’ev Kesley.” Ze’ev took the hand and allowed himself to be helped up.

“Nice to meet you, Beta Kesley.” Eclipse shook the hand he was still holding, and then dropped it abruptly. His nose twitched.

The other pack members were all getting up, looking around eagerly. Betas Sherazi and Troya were both sniffing the air. Ze’ev copied them, trying to tell what they were all sensing.

Meat. Blood. Something that made his stomach claw.

There was a gentle _ding_ noise as a bell rang. And suddenly the training area was a stampede as five hundred lupine operatives raced for the dining hall.

Ze’ev stumbled backwards. His hunger forgotten, the new soldier desperately prioritised not getting crushed in the rush to get food.

An arm reached out and wrapped around his shoulder, tugging him against someone’s body. Ze’ev didn’t resist, pressing himself away from the crowd.

Within moments the training grounds were clear. Ze’ev pulled himself away from Beta Vanya Volkov.

“Thanks,” Ze’ev muttered.

“Don’t mention it,” Vanya said flippantly. “The surgeries are expensive – Jael would be furious if we got you trampled on the first day.”

“Is it always like this?” Ze’ev asked him.

“Well, everyone’s always hungry around here.” Vanya grinned at him. “Come on, let’s go before all the good food is taken.”

Vanya started off at a light jog. Ze’ev followed him.

He was just beginning to think that being a part of the Queen’s special army might not be a complete tragedy when he walked into the dining hall.

The noise was deafening. The hall itself must have been soundproofed, as the voices he’d heard did not prepare him for the cacophony of boasts, threats, and howls that assaulted him the moment he walked in. Tables upon tables were filled with operatives, each snatching for the choicest pieces of meat available. Ze’ev could see no less than a dozen physical brawls throughout the building. The taste of blood and sweat filled the air, and Ze’ev didn’t understand his new senses well enough to recognise how much of the blood was from the meal.

Beta Vanya Volkov was unfazed, heading through the mayhem easily. Ze’ev hurried to follow him, sidestepping a fistfight of two operatives from another pack.

The two found the table headed by Alpha Brock easily. Ze’ev watched in terror as Beta Gibbous Troya lunged for the meat in front of Alpha Brock. Brock threw his challenger onto the ground, a solid left hook thudding into the beta’s stomach.  With a growl that was almost inaudible amongst the rest of the chaos, Troya leapt back against the alpha.

Ze’ev glanced around desperately, and saw Vanya had gone straight for a piece of meat in the middle of the table. Beta Becke had been reaching for the same piece, but when he saw Vanya reaching Beta Becke chose another steak.

Beta Aziz Sherazi had climbed entirely onto the table. His nose was bleeding heavily, but he still kept moving for a good quality piece of meat. Meanwhile, Beta Wynn had already thrown Beta Baines over the table entirely. Baines got up off the floor with a wince, holding his arm tight to his body.

Ze’ev quietly took a seat at the end of the table. He was relieved to note that not everyone had gotten involved in the free-for-all: Eclipse Garson was scavenging whatever he could get without resorting to violence, Beta Becke was calmly and methodically picking at anything left behind, and Omega Katona had seated himself as far away from the bloodbath as he could.

Snatching a small piece of meat that was passed over by Beta Huang Liu (or at least, Ze’ev was fairly sure that was his name), Ze’ev gnawed on his tiny meal and tried not to think about what the rest of his future would hold.

**~**

The barracks were hardly luxurious, and the moment the pack stepped inside Ze’ev picked up on the metallic scent of blood that he was alarmingly familiar with. However, the rooms were at least somewhat soundproofed, and the reduction from five hundred to thirteen voices gave his overstimulated hearing a rest.

There were fifteen beds across the room in two rows, seven beds above and eight below. A small series of closets were against the back wall, and a door led off to a communal bathroom.

Beta Gibbous Troya headed over to Ze’ev as soon as the new member walked inside.

“We’ve got two beds spare,” Gibbous said calmly, pointing out one top bunk and another bottom bunk across the room. “If you don’t want either of those, you’re welcome to fight someone for theirs.”

“Seriously?” The question came out a little higher than Ze’ev had intended.

“Well, yeah.”

“I wouldn’t bother,” Beta José Lobo advised him. José was lying on his bed, rolled over to watch the recruit. “They’re all the same. Top bunks are just a pain to climb onto after a bad day, and bottom bunks mean you can get stepped on. The only one whose got a better bed is Alpha Brock.”

José pointed at the bed nearest the door. It was the eighth bed across the bottom row, without one directly above. Brock was sitting on it, watching the conversation with a cocky smirk.

“And no offense newbie,” Lobo added, “but he’s alpha for a reason. You’re not going to beat him, and definitely not on your first night.”

Ze’ev nodded weakly. He chose the empty bottom bunk that Gibbous had suggested. It was underneath Beta Baines, who barely glanced over as Ze’ev sat.

“I think they might have got you some clothes,” Beta Eclipse Garson said, heading over to the closets. There were fifteen boxes set in the walls, along with a space for formal uniforms to hang and a shoe closet.

Eclipse tugged out one of the boxes and checked the label. “Yep, they did. Here.” He tossed over the sleepwear included. Ze’ev caught them with a mumbled thanks.

All around him, the other pack members were stripping off their dirty clothes, stained from the day. Beta Gibbous Troya was somewhat reluctant, ducking into the bathroom to get changed. No-one else seemed modest.

 Ze’ev tried not to stare at the scars that spread across each of them. Some wounds were new, bright purple bruises that had swelled up in the past few hours, and others were year old scars that had faded as much as they ever would.

The filthy clothes were all tossed into a small basket. Ze’ev copied them, changing into the unfamiliar pyjamas, and then crawled into his new bed.

Alpha Brock turned the light off. The noise drastically reduced, but Ze’ev could still hear everything.

Someone that he thought might be Beta Wynn was already asleep. Ze’ev knew that the heavy breathing came from the top bunk, third on the right, and from the smell alone he could tell that it was the operative with red hair: he wasn’t sure that his name was Wynn.

Likewise, Ze’ev wasn’t entirely sure if the person who let out a soft whimper with every breath was Beta Becke or Beta Rafe, but he knew it was the boy not too much older than him who had gotten into a fight with the big Beta Tsukino.

Eclipse Garson was talking quietly. Ze’ev could see the other boy kneeling before his bed as he murmured something that Z couldn’t quite pick out amongst all the sounds.

Ze’ev rolled over, not enjoying the noise. Ran probably wasn’t any quieter than the new roommates, but even without the bigger numbers, back then Ze’ev couldn’t hear every breath in the room.

He’d also been able to sense his brother’s bioelectricity. Sometimes he could even pick up on where in the house his parents were. Every other sense had moved from telling him there were roommates to screaming it at him, but his Lunar gift was a blank slate. It felt almost like the other operatives weren’t real. Ze’ev wondered if this was what it was like to meet a shell.

 It had been over a month since he’d shared his room with Ran; Ze’ev had been unconscious for most of that time and it felt like only a few nights. He’d been gone for minutes and it had been an eternity.

Every part of his body stung, from the rigorous exercise to Brock’s beating to the surgeries he’d woken up from hours ago.

Exhausted and homesick, Ze’ev drifted into sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are great, comments are better, and I'd love to hear from any of you.


	2. High Blood Drumming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ze'ev's second day in the pack involves training, a brawl, and a prayer.

**Chapter Two: High Blood Drumming**

 

Beta Eclipse Garson woke Ze’ev out of a night of bad dreams and constant stirrings.

“Come on. You have to be presentable for Master Jael.”

Ze’ev yawned, sitting up. “What time is it?” he asked sleepily.

“Oh-five-twenty.” Eclipse moved back, heading to the bathroom.

Ze’ev got up, shaking out his limbs. They were still stinging from the operation. He hoped breakfast would be soon – the small meat he’d scavenged at lunch and dinner yesterday wasn’t enough.

He joined the steady trickle of people heading to the bathroom. There were five showers available, and despite a minor altercation between Betas Troya and Liu (it was a resounding victory for Gibbous Troya) most of the pack seemed content to wait in line without physical violence. Alpha Brock, of course, was in first. Ze’ev was one of the last. The water was icy and shut off fairly quickly; the familiarity made him ache with homesickness.

Beta Vanya Volkov told Ze’ev which of the boxes in the closet was his, and he tugged on one of the uniforms. Then the pack swarmed out of the barracks, Alpha Brock in the lead.

They took their place in the same area everyone had been standing when Ze’ev arrived. There didn’t seem to be any order to the line, with Alpha Brock and Omega Katona both standing somewhat in the middle. Ze’ev found himself between Betas Garson and Becke.

The pack stood for another few minutes. Ze’ev watched his companions with interest. No-one spoke, but the operatives were at ease.

Then the familiar scent of Jael approached. Everyone stood up straighter, hands neatly behind their backs. Ze’ev mimicked them.

Jael came into view across the training hall. Several other thaumaturges were walking with him. They were all unfamiliar, but their scents surrounded the facility.

After a moment, Jael reached the pack, stopping in front of them. As one, the other thirteen operatives pressed their hand to the chest and chanted out “Master Jael,” with Ze’ev just a second behind.

Jael observed each of the pack, before he smiled. “Good morning,” he said. “I trust you all had an enjoyable sleep?”

There was no answer. Jael didn’t seem to expect one.

“We will start with a run of the obstacle course. A little physical exercise to warm up.”

“Yes, Master Jael,” everyone barked. Ze’ev had instinctively known that was the reply. In a synchronised jog, they all turned and headed to the course.

Beta Rille Baines was sent to the course first. He didn’t hesitate, but ran in at full speed. The first part of the obstacle course was to run a hundred meters on a series of stumps, all of varying sizes, in order to practise difficult terrain. Next, Beta Baines scaled a high pole with only his limbs to pull him up, in order to race across a thin tightrope. Next was a long row of monkey bars, which he then jumped down from onto the ground without a net. Finally, Baines finished with a kilometre-long sprint around the perimeter, going faster than Ze’ev had ever thought possible.

Jael tutted when Beta Baines stopped in front of him, breathing heavily.

“Almost nineteen seconds slower than last time,” Jael said. Baines seemed to wilt under the mild disappointment. “You’ll do better next time, won’t you?”

“Of course, Master Jael.”

“Stand with the others.”

Baines saluted, fist to heart, and then jogged into line.

Omega Katona was next. He was somewhat slower than Beta Baines, almost slipping on the monkey bars. However, he still managed to beat Beta Sherazi’s time a few minutes later, despite the fact that Aziz Sherazi was almost frothing at the mouth to have a go.

Beta Gibbous Troya went next. He obliterated Baines’ time, taking the stumps and monkey bars two at a time. The moment he was done, he winked at Baines teasingly. Baines didn’t react.

“Beta Kesley?” Jael said. Ze’ev straightened. “Care to step up?”

Quite honestly, Ze’ev didn’t care to. However, he had no doubt it wasn’t actually a question.

Ze’ev walked up to the start, crouching down in the same position Beta Baines had used. When Jael clicked, he started off.

The stumps seemed a lot taller and a lot thinner up close. Ze’ev forced himself to sprint at them, clumsily leaping into the air. He landed on the first one awkwardly, but it was a landing.

There was no way he was going to be able to run across the stumps like the others had. Ze’ev moved as quickly as he could, but still had to balance on each one before moving to the next.

After almost two minutes, Ze’ev dropped off the stumps. He darted forwards without trying to catch his breath, and then jumped for the giant pole.

Despite the fact he’d done the course on the day before, Ze’ev was still startled by how easy it was to scale the pole. His arms burned before he finished, but he was stronger than he should have been. The genetic modifications had some more practical advantages than the senses that still left him disorientated.

Within moments Ze’ev stood at the tightrope. He looked at the thin wire spread between the towers, and wondered if he would be allowed to crawl instead of walk.

Part of him wanted to try using his initiative to see if Master Jael would appreciate that, but his ribs still stung from the vicious blow Alpha Brock had given him the last time he disobeyed.

Slowly, Ze’ev stepped out onto the wire. Inch by inch, he crept across.

He was grateful to reach the monkey bars. They were fairly similar to the ones used in Physical Education at his school; in fact, the operatives had better quality ones that weren’t simply loops strung from the rafters. Ze’ev scurried past them, not quite with the grace of Beta Troya, but at least somewhat better than Omega Katona.

Ze’ev faltered when he reached the end. He’d done it before and had watched the others, but he’d forgotten that there was no platform to step onto. It took a few seconds of hanging from the last bar before he could convince himself to drop.

He tried to land on his feet, like the others, but stumbled on landing and fell to his knees. The impact made him shudder, but there didn’t seem to be any damage to his strengthened bones.

 Getting up, Ze’ev started forward on the sprint element of the course. It took a while before he was able to regain his balance, but running with the new modifications was more exhilarating than anything else.

Finally, Ze’ev stood in front of Jael, nervously at attention.

Jael wrinkled his nose. “I would hope that you tried this course yesterday. What was your time?”

Ze’ev had no idea. He licked his lips, and slightly shook his head.

“Pitiful,” Jael said. “I expect that you will be able to report on this in future.”

“Yes, Master Jael,” Ze’ev said quietly.

“Well, you’ll be pleased to know that it was a rather average performance for an operative before the modifications have fully settled.” Jael tilted his head to the side, observing Ze’ev. “However, I do not accept ‘average’ from my operatives.”

“Yes, Master Jael. Sorry, Master Jael.” Ze’ev hated the sycophancy in his voice, but he had no other response.

“Do better. Dismissed.”

Ze’ev gratefully re-joined the pack formation. He saw Beta Eclipse Garson give him a smile, and Beta Gibbous Troya nodded approvingly at him.

Jael called Beta Huang Liu up to the course, and Ze’ev turned his attention back to the training.

**~**

“Enjoying the pack, Beta Kesley?”

Ze’ev turned apprehensively to face the operative who spoke. It was Beta Aziz Sherazi, the small fighter who Eclipse said would often switch between being omega and beta.

“It’s an honour to be in the Queen’s army,” Ze’ev said hesitantly.

Aziz’s lip twitched, clearly knowing the meaning behind the neutral description. Still, he didn’t challenge it.

A couple of the other pack members were looking at the two of them, interested. Beta Troya was heading closer. To Ze’ev’s alarm, Betas Wynn, Rafe, and Lobo weren’t far behind.

“Do you enjoy it?” Ze’ev asked Aziz unsurely, more out of a desire to say something than actual curiosity.

“Like you said. It’s an ‘honour’ to serve the Queen.”

More pack members were heading over, spreading out in a loose circle as if Aziz and Ze’ev were an interesting show. Their expressions creeped Ze’ev out – ranging from Eclipse Garson’s worry, to Alex Rafe’s resignation, to an eager grin by Gibbous Troya.

That was not a good sign.

“Are you getting the hang of how this works?” Aziz asked. The older boy took a step closer.

“A little,” Ze’ev said, moving a step back. He was the same height as Aziz, but less muscular and far less trained.

“And you know about the pack hierarchy?”

“Strongest is alpha, weakest is omega,” Ze’ev recited.

“Good job,” Aziz said, taking another step. Ze’ev glanced behind him to see the edge of the pack circle. There was no more room to retreat. “Do you know how we work out who’s strongest and weakest?”

Ze’ev did, but he really wanted to be wrong. “No?”

There was a chuckle from the pack members around him.

Aziz’s eyes glinted as he took another step closer. He raised a fist. “Allow me to teach-”

Ze’ev struck first. His punch was sloppy and untrained, but it was fast. He hit Aziz hard in the stomach.

Aziz gasped, taking a step backwards, one arm wrapping around his stomach.

It took less than a second for him to begin to recover, but Ze’ev kept moving. He was driven by pure instinct, a brand-new artificially added desire to cause pain. He kicked as hard as he could, hitting Aziz’s knee.

Aziz gave ground again, stumbling. Ze’ev kept moving, and threw another wild punch.

This time, Aziz’s significant experience came in to play. Aziz deftly moved the fist away from him, then brought his other arm around for his own attack.

Ze’ev jumped backwards, dodging the blow by only centimetres. Aziz pressed his advantage, raining down attacks on the new recruit who desperately ducked around every hit.

Somewhat to Ze’ev’s surprise, he was able to keep up. Aziz constantly scored blows, but all of them were glancing. Despite running solely on guesswork and almost no fighting ability, Ze’ev wasn’t badly losing.

There was a reason why Aziz was often omega, Ze’ev realised, and it wasn’t because he was short.

Taking a chance, Ze’ev stepped closer to Aziz around a punch, and jabbed his fingers into his opponent’s side. Aziz gasped in pain, instinctively shying away from Ze’ev’s hand. The moment of poor balance was all Ze’ev needed, and he shoved Aziz as hard as he could in the chest.

Aziz fell backwards, collapsed onto the dirt. He snarled, a guttural, animal sound.

Without thinking about it, Ze’ev growled back.

“Waahoo! Yeah!”

Both looked up abruptly to see Vanya Volkov applauding. “Bravo, newbie!”

Aziz growled at Vanya too, still on the ground.

“Not bad for a first fight,” Gibbous Troya agreed. He started to clap too, less enthusiastically than the exaggerated cheering from Vanya Volkov.

 Ze’ev smiled broadly.

Aziz got up, glaring at him. However, the battle seemed to be over, and he didn’t make another move against Ze’ev.

The pack started to move off again, spreading off.

“You did good,” José Lobo said, pausing in front of Ze’ev.

“Thanks.”

“Maybe you won’t go down from the first punch when I fight you,” he added. Seeing Ze’ev’s expression, José grinned. “Don’t worry. I’m not intending on fighting you _today_. But I promise you, by the end of the month you’ll have fought every single member of the pack.”

“Oh.” The pleasure Ze’ev had gotten from his triumph quickly diminished.

“Just do your best never to be omega, and you’ll be fine,” José advised him, heading off.

Eclipse took his place, a slightly kinder smile on his face. “Even if you do get Omega, it’s not the end of the world. Just bare it and challenge the weaker members as much as possible until you move up again.”

Ze’ev licked his lips. He was starting to get used to navigating his new teeth. “Thanks,” he said. He knew (or at least strongly suspected) that Eclipse was trying to cheer him up, but it didn’t work.

The rush from beating Aziz, at least to the point where the other pack members had considered him the winner, was starting to fade. Ze’ev was starting to feel sick, remembering that savage desire to beat him.

What had those operations turned him into?

**~**

The second day went much the same as the first.

After his fight with Beta Sherazi, Ze’ev did his best to stay out of everyone’s way. He thought the others knew what he was doing, but other than a derisive snort from Alpha Brock no-one seemed to care.

Instead, he tried to get a better understanding of the fights, but it seemed useless. Battles broke out over the smallest of things: Vanya Volkov and José Lobo got into a fight after lunch for retaliation for one or the other punching the other for a piece of steak; Gibbous Troya challenged Alpha Crater Brock for the title of alpha (Gibbous put up a reasonable fight, but Brock won decisively); Huang Liu and Aziz Sherazi fought for no discernible reason.

At the end of the day, Ze’ev returned to the barracks, grateful to be able to stop thinking for a few hours. The howling and bragging of the pack seemed quieter, everyone ready for bed.

He pulled on his pyjamas, finding that his dirty clothes from the day before had already been washed. He climbed into bed a few moments before Alpha Brock hit the light switch.

The voices quietened, conversations petering out.

It took a moment for Ze’ev to realise that Eclipse Garson was still talking. His hearing pricked up before he was conscious of doing it.

“—By Kingdom come Your will be done, on Earth and Luna as it is in Heaven. Give us today our daily bread, and forgive us our sins now, as we forgive those who sin against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Glory be Your name, forever and ever. Amen.”

Ze’ev sat up curiously. His own family had never been particularly religious, and all he really knew about religion mostly came from holos. He tried to focus on the older boy kneeling in front of his bed.

“Thank You for this time, and thank You that we all survived this day. I’m sorry that I sinned today. Please help me learn to love others as You loved us. Please help me to forgive everyone, even the thaumaturges and the Queen. I know that this is all part of Your will. Please help me to have the faith to follow You, no matter what. In the name of the Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit, Amen.”

Eclipse climbed into bed.

Ze’ev looked around. No-one else had even reacted to the prayer. It must have been a pretty common event.

Ze’ev wasn’t quite sure about the details of the religion; he wasn’t entirely sure which religion it was (he thought maybe Christianity, not that he’d know the difference between the types). Still, the idea that Someone other than the Queen held his fate was comforting: especially if that Someone had another plan than Ze’ev becoming a monster.

Tucking himself back under the covers, Ze’ev drifted into sleep.

 


	3. Juices Like Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training in the queen's army isn't just about learning theoretical fighting. It's not even just about fighting other operatives. Lunar special operatives have to practise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is one of the darkest chapters.  
> The writing itself isn't very explicit, but there is plenty of horror left to the imagination.  
> Just a general warning for blood and executions.

**Chapter Three: Juices Like Wine**

 

Ze’ev’s mother, Maha Kesley, had always been fascinated by the quirks of Earthen language that were still in use on Luna. Phrases that didn’t technically apply on a moon, but had been carried over by settlers anyway.

She particularly liked the ones relating to time. Technically, a Lunar day was over twenty seven Earth days: it took twenty seven periods where Lunars slept until sunlight came around. But in everyday language, the time with sunlight was referred to as ‘long days’, and the cycle of sleep and work were casually called ‘days’.

Whether referring to Earth days or long days, however, Ze’ev didn’t have a strong grasp of how many had passed. No hint of sunlight ever reached the underground lava tubes in Artemisia, and he had never thought to count his sleep cycles.

He noticed when the modifications became more prominent. More muscle, sharper reflexes, advanced senses, and a steadily growing bloodlust coursed through him.

Some part of Ze’ev wondered how much of the changes were from the operation, and how many of them were from the training. He guessed it was a mixture of both. Sometimes the thought that he was being trained into a monster terrified him more than the idea it was artificially implanted during surgery, but in general he was mostly resigned.

His pack members might have been vicious, but they still undeniably had souls. As long as he didn’t go through the next level of surgery, Ze’ev thought he might be okay with being an operative like them.

It was somewhere between five long days and five months after Ze’ev first joined the Queen’s Army that Jael’s pack were chosen for a special training exercise.

At breakfast, Ze’ev looked around curiously. He was sitting out of the way, trying to snatch a decent meal without getting any bigger-than-usual injuries. Beta Gibbous Troya had bitten him on the shoulder the day before — biting was actually surprisingly rare amongst the pack, with Ze’ev only having been bitten three times before — and he was trying to avoid jolting the injury.

Normally, it would have been easy enough for him to at least appease his hunger without getting hurt, if not entirely satisfy his stomach. Ze’ev had begun to develop a knack for dodging, darting around his opponents until he got a chance to deliver a few cutting blows. Unfortunately, the meal was more bloodthirsty than usual, with Alpha Brock actually starting off a howl during a brawl. Ze’ev was able to get a few small slivers of meat, but got more bruises than mouthfuls.

By contrast, several of the pack members were alarmingly silent. It was common to see Beta Eclipse Garson avoiding the mealtime bloodbath, but more unusual to see Beta Alex Rafe sit next to him, playing with a strip of meat without even eating it. Beta Vanya Volkov had also turned to scavenging instead of actively fighting, while for the first time since Ze’ev had arrived, Beta Huang Liu deliberately picked a fight with someone higher on the hierarchy (Beta Tristan Wynn, who easily wiped the floor with him).

“What’s going on today?” Ze’ev asked Beta José Lobo, who sat next to him.

José gave him a smile, fangs gleaming. “Why, we have a field trip today to the arena.”

“Uh-huh. And this is making everyone more violent than usual why?” Ze’ev asked, trying to focus on José.

Behind Beta Lobo, Omega Sherazi (he had been demoted since Ze’ev joined – several times, actually; he and Katona switched repeatedly) was being violently hammered into the floor by Beta Tsukino.

“You haven’t had an arena training yet, have you?” José said.

“I’ve been in the arena before,” Ze’ev said, still distracted.

Alpha Brock had gone to interfere before Beta Tsukino permanently hurt Omega Sherazi. Crater Brock punched Masaru Tsukino in the shoulder, knocking him off the semi-conscious omega.

“Yeah, but not for an execution,” José said, glancing behind him to see what Ze’ev was looking at.

It took a moment for what José had said to sink in.

“What?” Ze’ev gaped.

José grinned. “Executions,” he repeated.

Ze’ev stared at him. After a moment when José didn’t elaborate, Ze’ev swallowed. “Executions,” he repeated. “What’s being executed?”

“Traitors to the crown,” José said flippantly.

José’s eyes brightened abruptly, and he turned up the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to grab a balanced breakfast,” he said, moving off to an unguarded piece of choice meat.

Beta Lobo threw himself into the battle.

Ze’ev sat stunned.

After a moment someone sat next to him. Ze’ev instinctively tensed, prepared for Beta Alex Rafe to try to snatch the slim piece of steak he’d managed to get, but Alex waved a hand.

“You okay?”

“What did José mean, traitors to the crown?” Ze’ev knew that Beta Rafe had heard every word. It was entirely possible to miss conversations in the violence that was the dining hall, but if Alex hadn’t been listening he wouldn’t have come over the moment José left.

“People who broke the law,” Alex answered. He rested his head in his hand, elbow on the table. “Ran a rebellion, tried to keep their shell kids, tried to flee to Earth – no idea what the details are. It’s not really our place to ask.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

Alex looked at Ze’ev if he couldn’t believe anyone could be that dumb. “You can’t train a soldier that has only ever killed mannequins.”

Ze’ev’s stomach twisted.

“They use us to kill?” Ze’ev asked, higher-pitched than usual.

Beta Rille Baines slid along the bench to be a little closer to Ze’ev and Alex. “We’re serving the queen,” Baines said, running his finger along a trickle of blood left by one of the raw steaks. “It’s an honour to help Luna in any way we can.”

“I – I don’t – they can’t –”

“Oh, don’t worry, kid; it won’t be you doing anything,” Vanya Volkov said with mock cheerfulness. “Completely under Master Jael’s control the whole time. Just mindless flesh-eating monsters who slaughter anyone who dares to think the queen is unfair for having a thousand mindless flesh-eating monsters.”

“ _Beta Volkov!_ ” Beta Baines protested, his eyes growing wide. He glanced around.

Vanya folded his arms, leaning back. “Oh, like they care what we say? Unless our lovely queen has a listening device-”

“Quiet,” Beta Baines said.

“Or you’ll make me?”

“If I have to.”

This was a side to Vanya that Ze’ev hadn’t seen before. He was still learning the other members of the pack, and had only picked up on the superficial aspects. Vanya Volkov tended to joke, to play, to tease. He was as much of a fighter as any of them, but was predominately a clown. Self-loathing was a new joke, one that Ze’ev didn’t particularly like. Vanya was bordering on treason.

There was a long moment when Betas Volkov and Baines glowered at each other.

“Too much violence in a day sours my appetite,” Vanya grumbled, relaxing slowly. He kept his eyes on Rille, clearly prepared in case the other operative attacked first, but lowered his arms to prove that he wasn’t intending on fighting.

Baines sat back. He nodded once at Volkov, who shrugged.

Alex Rafe turned to Ze’ev, sighing. “It’ll be okay. Just don’t think about it while it’s happening.”

“Right,” Ze’ev said faintly.

For the first time in weeks, Ze’ev didn’t feel hungry.

**~**

The arena was the biggest room in the facility. It had enough space for up to fifteen packs to train without interrupting each other, and all fifty operative packs would fit with plenty of room.

Ze’ev had been in it a hundred times before. He was fairly certain that one of the many permanent bloodstains was from Alpha Brock introducing his palm to Ze’ev’s nose. Still, he was terrified to step in it this time. There was a scent of strangers inside.

Jael’s pack milled around the entrance. Gibbous Troya was nearly bouncing from eagerness; Crater Brock had the biggest smile Ze’ev had ever seen him wear; Eclipse Garson had turned a shade of green that probably wasn’t healthy.

No-one spoke. Ze’ev shifted continually, unable to get comfortable. The bite on his shoulder had stopped aching, but he was acutely aware of his own pointed teeth.

After a few minutes, Jael arrived. He didn’t glance at his pack, expecting – rightly – that they would follow him inside obediently.

Ze’ev tried to keep his gaze focused ahead, but couldn’t help himself. His eyes flicked over to the corner, where a group of at least thirty men and women stood.

The people were dressed in ragged clothes, and looked exhausted. Ze’ev could smell hints of sickness amongst them. The strongest few stood at the front, spread out in an attempt to shield the others.

With a thrill of horror, Ze’ev realised some of the prisoners standing at the back were younger than he was.

Beta Baines nudged Ze’ev sharply. Ze’ev instantly turned back to the front, fitting into formation with the ease of practise.

Jael stepped in front of the pack, facing the ragged group at the other end of the arena. “Welcome to the Queen’s training facility,” Jael said almost courteously.

The group bunched together even tighter. The strongest few tensed. One bared her teeth. Ze’ev wondered if she was the alpha, or if it was the man in the middle who stood out as the first line of defence.

It didn’t occur to Ze’ev that only packs had alphas.

“You have been brought here today in order to honour your country-” Jael continued.

“There is no honour on the filthy Queen’s rock!” the woman who had bared her teeth shouted.

Jael gave her an irritated glance.

The woman collapsed to the ground, clutching her head as if it would protect her mind from the thaumaturge.

“You stand before me accused of treason,” Jael continued, paying no attention to the woman as she writhed on the ground. “You have betrayed Luna, but the queen is merciful. Your death will balance your treachery, as you help train our prized soldiers.”

Ze’ev struggled to keep his face blank. Someone in the back of the huddle let out a wail.

The woman on the ground abruptly stopped gasping, and sat up. She touched her head tenderly, and then glowered at Jael, who didn’t acknowledge her whatsoever. Then she scrambled back into line, determined to defend her own pack.

Ze’ev didn’t check what the other’s reactions were, but he heard a quiet hum of approval from Gibbous Troya.

“I encourage you to fight your best. Your work will be useful.”

The prisoners glared at Jael, but didn’t reply. The thaumaturge calmly turned on his heel and walked out of the way, leaving the line of operatives standing at attention and facing the prisoners.

“Pack?” Jael called, leaning almost casually against the arena wall. “Kill them.”

“Yes, Master Jael,” the pack chanted. It was an instinctive reply to any order.

For a moment they hesitated, still in formation. Ze’ev had no objection to the delay, but he wondered why everyone held back when so many were eager for blood.

And then suddenly, his thoughts disappeared. Every fear, every worry, every hint of guilt or panic or regret – gone.

In their place was a starving, violent hunger. Not for food, really, but for the taste of blood.

Ze’ev was still coherent enough to realise it was Jael inside his head, twisting his bioelectricity. He knew that the thaumaturge was the only logical reason behind his desperate longing to hunt.

He didn’t care.

He wanted to kill. He wanted to rip his teeth into flesh, to hear screams of pain as he crushed someone, to soak his hands red.

As one, the pack started to prowl forwards. The protective boundary tensed.

He could see every throat. Instinctively he aimed at the smallest ones, the weakest links to kill, but then changed course. He was in a pack, he would only improve his standing by killing a warrior.

But no, other pack members had already chosen the warriors. His desire to fight was only focused on the non-pack people cowering against the walls. He had no interest in attacking either his brothers or the man watching the hunt.

All he wanted was the prey.

He lunged into the fight. He aimed for one of the smaller prisoners, who was dripping with the stench of fear, but one of the non-pack’s fighters threw him away. The blow jarred his shoulder badly, and caught his previous bite wound from something immaterial.

He snarled at the non-pack fighter, ready to lunge at it instead, but one of his pack brothers had already knocked it to the ground. The stench of the fighter’s blood only wet his appetite further.

He turned back to the huddle. They had broken ranks, trying to flee around the area. That was good. Running prey was the best prey. This was his pack’s territory – the non-pack would not escape.

He chose a target and sprinted forward on two legs, then he bunched up and tackled the non-pack thing. The prey screamed and kicked. He liked it struggling, but he couldn’t let it continue. He bit and finally tasted blood.

The alpha howled. Around him, the rest of the pack lifted their heads and joined the howl, shouting out their victory.

He joined instantly. He howled his bloodlust, his pleasure at the kill, his desire for more kills, and his belonging in the pack. The operative howled, and ignored the screaming of the boy he was normally, trapped somewhere inside his head.

**~**

“I killed at least five of them.”

“Liar.”

“It’s true,” Beta Liu argued. “I have five different types of blood on me.”

“Of course you do, the whole arena was soaked in blood,” Beta Lobo said. “The fact you stepped on someone else’s kill doesn’t mean you killed them.”

The pack was in the barracks, chatting about the exercise. Ze’ev sat on his bed, numb.

He wasn’t the only one not celebrating. Beta Eclipse Garson ran to the bathroom the moment they reached the barracks. Beta Alex Rafe was leaning on the wall with his arms crossed, glaring at the air. Beta Vanya Volkov continually wiped at his lips, although his hands were probably bloodier.

“I gotta admit,” Beta Gibbous Troya said, “That girl was pretty impressive. Standing up to Master Jael like that and then getting back into position without hesitating? She’s everything I hope I’d be if I hadn’t been chosen for the army.”

“A traitor?” Beta Baines asked.

Beta Troya paused. “Alright, maybe not entirely. I’m just saying that what she did was strong for a normal Lunar, even a traitor. I’m glad I was able to give her a good death.”

“You’re mistaken,” Beta Tsukino said. “She was my kill.”

“Want me to add you to the list of people I’ve defeated today?” Beta Troya challenged. “She was mine.”

“You mildly inconvenienced her, but her defeat-”

Troya snarled, lunging forwards. Tsukino was bigger, but that didn’t stop him from falling under the tackle. Of course, he soon retaliated.

Silently, Ze’ev got up from his bed, feeling sick. The pack was too focused on the brawl to notice as the newest recruit slipped into the bathroom.

Eclipse Garson was kneeling in the corner, praying. Ze’ev could hear him begging for forgiveness, and asking that the souls of the dead would be saved.

“While you’re asking for forgiveness, could you ask for some for me, too?” Ze’ev asked without even thinking about it, turning on the tap.

Eclipse didn’t move, but added Ze’ev’s name to the prayer. After a moment, he listed off the entire pack, and then added Master Jael and even Queen Levana.

Ze’ev thought that Eclipse Garson must have been a much better person than he was, in order to pray that the royal court would be forgiven for a sin they probably didn’t recognise as such.

Instead, Ze’ev started scrubbing his hands under the tap, and tried to wash out his mouth.

The bathroom didn’t have mirrors, like any area in Artemisia. Ze’ev had no way of knowing whether he’d gotten all the blood off his face, and so kept scrubbing until his skin was raw.

Even then, the smell of blood lingered. Ze’ev kept scrubbing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In _Cress_ , it interested me how Wolf insisted that he knew what Levana would do to traitors, considering that his own abuse was because of conscription and not treason.
> 
> There were two paths I could take from that -  
> a) Wolf was not being entirely literal/logical when discussing the fact that the woman who earned the title 'Evil Queen' had captured the person he cared about most, and so forgot that there was no reason for Scarlet to suffer the same thing he did, or  
> b) he had knowledge of how traitors were punished that was far more intimate than simply watching heavily censored queen-approved reports when he was twelve.
> 
> One of them is more logical, but this was more fun to write.
> 
> Please, please, please leave a comment! Even if it's just one word, I'd love to hear from you.


	4. Too Close To Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The operatives might be vicious, genetically modified killers, but that doesn't mean they don't still miss their families.

  **Chapter Four: Too Close To Hide**

The pack watched attentively as Beta Tristan Wynn shredded mannequins. One particularly brutal uppercut completely took a head off. Tristan paused for a split second to grin at the damage, before turning to face the next dummy. The sharpened nails that were now almost fashionable amongst the pack did their work well, tearing a huge gash through the torso.

The mannequins were not particularly realistic, but they did ooze a red liquid that made Ze’ev uncomfortable despite how little it smelled like actual blood.

Beta Wynn completed the mannequin massacre and turned to face Master Jael, his fist on his chest.

Jael nodded once. “An improvement. You may rejoin the pack. Beta Kesley?”

As one, both Ze’ev and Ran stepped forwards.

Ran glowered at his brother. Ze’ev set his jaw and ignored him.

“Ah,” Jael said with a slight smile. “Of course. Beta Ze’ev Kesley, you may rejoin formation. Beta Ran Kesley, you may begin.”

Both brothers saluted. Ran moved to the start of the next set of mannequins, whilst Ze’ev took a step backwards.

“You know,” Beta Vanya Volkov said, too quietly for Master Jael to hear him, “I think one of them is going to need to get either promoted or demoted.”

“I bet I know which one,” Beta José Lobo said, equally quietly.

“And which direction,” Beta Aziz Sherazi added.

Ze’ev fidgeted, but kept quiet.          

It had been about a month since Ran had joined the pack. In that time, he’d had gotten into over a dozen fights and lost every one.

That in itself was a bad sign. But what was worse was that Ran more than just lost – he had yet to land a single blow, even against Beta Sherazi.

Only two people in the pack had yet to beat him: Omega Emil Katona and Ze’ev himself. And the entire pack knew that while Emil was a coward, he was still a lupine special operative and a challenge was inevitable.

There was no doubt as to who was going to end up as omega.

Ze’ev wanted to take his little brother to the side, show him a few tricks to improve his game. He’d tried after Beta José Lobo beat Ran into the dust, mentioning quietly that he’d have better luck if he fixed his stance a little. Ran had just snarled, stalking off without a word. Ze’ev hadn’t tried again.

If Ran wanted to forget they were brothers, there wasn’t much Ze’ev could do. It didn’t stop him from cringing as he watched Ran fumble his way through the mannequins.

“Was I that bad when I first started?” Ze’ev murmured to Gibbous Troya, who was standing next to him.

“No. You were a little better than average,” Gibbous said. “Your little brother is about half that.”

“Right.” Ze’ev watched.

Ran tried to mimic Beta Wynn’s decapitation punch. The first blow was badly aimed, scraping the jaw in a way that would barely leave a bruise on a real human. The next shot hit the head with decent force, a blow that might be fatal with a little luck. Stubbornly, Ran hit the same mannequin again, grabbing at the throat and trying to tug it off.

After a moment, he gave up, hissing with anger. Ran turned around and lunged for another fake human. He chose his teeth for that attack, ripping out the throat and finally managing a killing shot first go.

The fake blood stained down his shirt. Ran didn’t falter, moving onto the next.

Finally, he finished. He ran eagerly to Master Jael, hand on his chest, and smiled through the red liquid coating his mouth.

Jael arched one eyebrow. “Pitiful,” he said.

Ran’s expression fell.

“I expect significantly better results at this stage of training. You may return.”

Dejectedly, Ran walked back to the pack formation.

“Alpha Brock, you may begin. I would hope that your attempt will be better.”

“Of course, Master Jael,” Alpha Crater Brock said. He gave a derisive look at Ran, before he stepped up to the course.

**~**

Master Jael walked off with the other thaumaturges sometime before lunch, presumably to get their own meal. After the bell chimed and the rest of the operatives raced to the dining hall, Ze’ev held back. He knew that Ran wasn’t quite able to keep up with the stampede yet, and the newest pack member would wait a few moments to head in.

Ran scowled when he saw Ze’ev still there after the arena emptied. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to ask you what’s going on at home.”

“RM-9, you mean?” Ran tilted his head slightly, but at least he didn’t growl. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because,” Ze’ev faltered. “Because I need to know. What happened to mum and dad? Are they okay? How did they take the conscription?”

Ran tapped his fingers along his arm. “You’re not supposed to still care. There’s a reason all ties are cut.”

No-one in the pack talked about their families much. Ze’ev only knew a couple of details: Alpha Brock had once mentioned that he had a brother; Gibbous Troya had spoken about how he used to ask his older sister to braid his hair; Vanya Volkov said that he had a stepmother; Eclipse Garson had explained that his parents had taught him to pray every night.

Despite their silence, Ze’ev knew that almost all his pack mates missed their family. He wasn’t sure how many would go home if given the chance, since words about life before the army were always chosen carefully, but he was confident that everyone would love to be able to contact their families.

“I know. Ran. Brother. Please.”

Ran sighed. “Okay. Fine. After you were conscripted, our parents went into mourning.”

“Mourning?”

“Yes. They wore black sashes for a month and even carved your name into a rock to make a plaque,” Ran said. “I guess it was easier to pretend you were dead, although I’m still not sure whether they hoped otherwise.”

Ze’ev remembered the holographic image of the lunar soldier with completed modifications, and thought of the blank, animalistic eyes. He wasn’t sure what rumours of the Queen’s Army reached RM-9, but he’d rather they thought he was dead than one of those monsters. If Jael’s pack didn’t pass training, Ze’ev might as well be dead.

“Are they – were they getting better?”

Ran shrugged. “They were moving on a bit before I left. Probably regressed after I joined the army.”

“Oh.” The loss of a second son might have crushed them, but at least they were alive. A year could have a lot of casualties in mining sectors.

“Yeah.” Ran wrinkled his nose. “Always somewhat weak.”

The words didn’t ring completely true, as if Ran was trying to cultivate a new persona. It didn’t matter; Ze’ev was instantly furious. Had it been anyone else, he would have attacked.

“It’s not weak to care about someone.”

Ran snorted. It sounded genuine. “And I thought this training was supposed to make us tough.”

“Were you always like this?” Ze’ev said. “Or did the surgery change you?”

“Were you always this pathetic?” Ran replied.

Ze’ev growled.                                 

Ran attacked.

He swung wildly, without any real aim. Ze’ev effortlessly blocked the punch, deflecting it away from him. Then Ze’ev threw his own attack, slamming his fist into Ran’s stomach.

Ran doubled over, wheezing. He looked up with a growl.

Ze’ev didn’t wait for another blow. He brought his knee up hard, connecting with Ran’s ribcage. When Ran stumbled backwards, Ze’ev stepped forwards and pushed him in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground.

“You want to forget we were ever brothers?” Ze’ev snarled, leaning closer to the downed boy. “Fine. Let me give you one last piece of brotherly advice. Work on your reflexes.”

Ze’ev turned around and walked to the dining hall, leaving Ran on the ground.

There was only Omega Katona left to battle Ran before his stance in the pack was absolutely official. As Ze’ev doubted that Emil would pull his punches too, it seemed likely his brother was going to be omega by the end of the week.

He wasn’t okay with that, not really. But he didn’t have any other ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... if you've read this far, would you mind maybe dropping me a comment or even just clicking that little 'kudos' button? I'd really appreciate it.


	5. In Discord and Rhyme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another fight. Against another pack is new, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, for someone who isn’t that good at writing fight scenes, I certainly chose wisely when I decided that the thing in TLC that interested me most was the dynamics of the genetically modified living weapons who routinely battle. On the plus side, it should at least improve a weakness.  
> Not a lot of dialogue in this chapter, or even plot. I just wanted to have Ze’ev’s pack ‘bonding’, in the way I felt would fit best with canon.

Ze’ev had long since grown used to the screams and the howls that always filled the dining hall. Instead he focused on filling his stomach with minimal violence.

He’d noticed that his standards of ‘minimal violence’ seemed to be steadily declining. It had gotten to the point that several of his lower-ranked pack mates actively avoided challenging him for meat, after he’d blackened Beta Liu’s eye for a week.

Ze’ev’s conscience didn’t thank him, but his stomach did.

Gnawing on a stringy piece of meat and wondering exactly what animal it even came from, Ze’ev watched the other battles exploding around him.

Betas Troya and Wynn were in a vicious match. The two of them were more or less even. In general, Beta Wynn tended to have the edge over Beta Troya, but today Troya seemed to be winning.

Meanwhile, Beta Sherazi and Beta Liu were in their own fight. There were only three people in the pack who Beta Liu would ordinarily challenge, all of whom had been omega at some point in the two years since Ze’ev arrived. As always, Beta Sherazi’s pure ferocity didn’t match up against Beta Liu’s relatively superior strength and skill.

The most impressive battle was between Beta Tsukino and Alpha Brock. As Ze’ev watched, Brock clenched his left fist for half an instant, and then spun around in a perfect roundhouse kick. Beta Tsukino collapsed under the hit.

Alpha Brock smirked, snatching the large steak they had been fighting over.

Beta Tsukino got to his feet, growling.

Furiously, he twisted around and ripped a small piece of meat from the nearest operative weaker than him: the next table’s omega.

The other battles seemed to stop. Jael’s pack all looked over, curious, as the other omega snarled in fury.

Between-pack battles weren’t unheard of, but they somewhat rare. After all, they were designed to fight each other for status. It didn’t matter how successful an operative was against another pack; they might as well slaughter punching bags for all the good it did their position. There wasn’t even any point in stealing food from other tables, since there would be the same amount of fight and no hierarchy reward.

But Beta Tsukino wanted a fight with someone who wasn’t his alpha, and the random omega was closest. When the omega obliged his desire for a fight, Beta Tsukino flattened him.

The omega leapt into the air, fingers scrabbling for Masaru Tsukino’s eyes. It was a technique that no-one in Jael’s pack ever used, but Tsukino easily adjusted. He dragged the omega out of the air and tossed him to the ground.

Victoriously, Tsukino took a bite of the stolen steak.

Then he was abruptly thrown back by a vicious punch to the stomach. One of the other pack’s betas had not taken kindly to his pack mate’s attack.

Beta Tsukino snarled, bouncing on the balls of his feet with surprising grace for someone so big.

“If you want a fight, you’ll get one,” the other beta warned.

“Good,” Beta Tsukino growled back.

Then Ran, always trying to get respect and never seeming to realise that making himself helpful wasn’t working, burst into the fight.

Ran crashed into the other pack’s beta. The beta was caught off balance, entirely unprepared, and stumbled back several steps.

Ran slashed his sharpened claws brutally across the beta’s torso. It was a move Alpha Brock favoured that month, and although Ran didn’t have the strength to do it properly, it drew blood.

Whether omega or alpha, every operative had that same glint in their eyes whenever their hands got bloody. Ran eagerly pulled his fist back for a punch.

It never connected. The other pack’s omega tackled into him, throwing him off the beta.

Ran gleefully turned his attention to his new battle. Meanwhile, Tsukino and the other beta fell into a brawl.

Ze’ev watched on tenterhooks. Beta Tsukino was able to handle himself reasonably against even Alpha Brock, so Ze’ev had no fear for him. It was Ran that Ze’ev watched.

Ran clawed at his opponent’s face, cutting deep into skin and probably leaving a scar. The other omega pulled back, before tightening his fist and punching Ran’s nose. Blood exploded across his face.

Previously suppressed instincts were howling in Ze’ev’s ears. He had to go protect his baby brother. Still, Ze’ev sat frozen on the bench, remembering Ran’s demand that they forget they were related.

Ze’ev was still hesitating when Beta Rafe got involved.

Rafe darted into the fray, grabbing the other omega and dragging him away from Ran. The other omega spun around, putting all his effort into a clumsy kick which Beta Rafe easily deflected.

Another of the other pack’s betas, not the one fighting Beta Tsukino, rushed at Rafe. He brought his leg around in a roundhouse kick, slamming into Rafe’s knees. Beta Rafe collapsed with a whine.

Ze’ev left behind his lunch, sprinting over to the battle. Beta Liu was close behind him; Beta Wynn was already in the fray.

Ran was still in the middle of the fight. It was unfortunate that sheer willpower was not actually a viable weapon. The idiot had gone for the opposing alpha. The only reason Ran’s head was still in one piece was that the alpha looked too confused by being attacked by an omega.

Ran easily dodged the first punch, and missed the second one by millimetres. The third one struck true, causing Ran to fall back with a cry.

The alpha growled, sharp teeth aimed at Ran’s throat.

Ze’ev didn’t hesitate, didn’t even think. He kicked the alpha as hard as he could in the back. He wasn’t quite close enough for it to cause a decent bruise, but it did make the alpha turn around in surprise as Ze’ev finally got near.

Bunching up his fist, Ze’ev punched with all of his strength. It would have broken the alpha’s specially reinforced skull, but the alpha caught his wrist.

It was a tactic Ze’ev had never fought before, but since joining the queen’s army, he’d learned to improvise fighting techniques. Immediately, Ze’ev wrapped his free hand around the alpha’s fist, and used his opponent’s arm as leverage to pull himself off the ground. In a moment he swung forwards, bringing his knee up to collide with the alpha’s temple.

The alpha ducked away with ease, and then jabbed his free hand sharply into Ze’ev’s torso. Ze’ev released his grip reflexively and dropped to the ground.

He didn’t get a chance to move before the alpha kicked him in the stomach. Ze’ev gasped and instinctively curled into a ball, even though experience screamed that staying still was a bad idea.

The opposing alpha drew back his leg for another savage kick, but Beta Gibbous Troya intervened first. The alpha yelped with pain as Troya’s teeth dug into his shoulder, and stumbled away from Ze’ev.

Troya let go quickly, but not fast enough. A brutal swipe from the alpha split Gibbous’ lip.

Ze’ev scrambled to his feet, ready to add his weight to the battle, but Alpha Brock was already barrelling in. Lightning fast despite his size, Brock pushed Beta Troya out of the way. In the same movement, Brock spun around, adding momentum to his punch.

The fist connected. The other alpha spat blood.

Troya glanced at Brock and the other alpha brawling, smiled despite the split lip, and then darted off to help Beta Garson. Ran had disappeared somewhere, hopefully for a battle that was more in his league.

Brock and the other alpha seemed to be at least somewhat evenly matched. Ze’ev scanned the area, looking for any of his pack mates who needed help.

The other forty-eight operative packs in the dining hall hadn’t entirely stopped their internal fights, but the battle was garnering interest as mid-meal entertainment. Ze’ev ignored them.

He noticed that Beta Huang Liu was struggling against two opponents at once. Ze’ev started to move towards them, then stepped back as he noticed another operative was barrelling towards him.

It wasn’t so much an instinct to dodge as it was an instinct to hide behind his alpha. Ze’ev didn’t think about it, but took a quick step to the side to be next to Brock.

Without looking at either Ze’ev or the beta, Alpha Brock slammed out his elbow with perfect aim. The charging beta dropped to his knees.

Ze’ev navigated around him, and shot through the battle to help Beta Liu.

Easily, Ze’ev caught the attention of one of Huang’s attackers, simply by slamming his foot hard against the other beta’s knee. The beta snarled, and started raining down attacks on Ze’ev.

He was clumsy. Ze’ev slipped into his favourite routine of dodging every blow and patiently waiting for an opening. It came after almost a minute, and Ze’ev ducked under a punch and slammed his palm upwards, cracking against the beta’s jaw.

The beta howled, stumbling backwards. Ze’ev let himself feel a moment of pride, before the beta lunged forward again and slammed a fist against his torso.

It was hard to tell if a rib cracked or if it was just bruised, but either way Ze’ev fell. The other beta stamped on his hand, and Ze’ev yelled.

He tried to tug his hand free, failed, and then bit at the exposed ankle, all within a second. The beta jerked in surprise, and Ze’ev released his jaw before he got kicked in the face.

The bite had drawn blood, although just barely. Ze’ev had learned to hate the taste of human blood more than anything, but he would never show it.

“You okay?” Beta Huang Liu said, not taking his eyes off the beta he was circling.

“Yeah,” Ze’ev said, getting to his feet and cradling his hand. He’d had worse. “Are you?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

 The beta Ze’ev had been fighting had sprinted off to help one of his own pack mates, who was being savaged by Beta Wynn. Ze’ev didn’t follow, and instead looked around for someone else on his team to help.

**~**

“And where, might I ask, is Beta Sherazi?” Jael asked.

“Hospital wing, Master Jael,” Alpha Brock answered, straight backed.

The pack was standing in formation, each of them nursing new injuries and trying not to let Master Jael see weakness.

“I see,” Jael said, eyes locking in on Crater Brock.

Brock didn’t flinch under the scrutiny, but Ze’ev thought that his left shoulder rose slightly whenever he was uncomfortable.

“And why, might I ask, was Beta Sherazi so badly injured to need medical attention? You know that the ward is only for the most serious of cases.”

“Yes, Master Jael,” Brock nodded. “I accept full responsibility for sending him away without permission.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Brock paused, obviously trying to list the symptoms in as professional manner as he could. “There was a lot of blood and he couldn’t stand up,” he said finally.

Jael seemed to accept that.

The hospital wing was only to be used in absolute emergencies. Ze’ev had only seen his pack mates use it seven times since he first started. He’d yet to be admitted – that tended to be those who actively challenged Alpha Brock for his title. Still, he’d gone there once to escort Beta Wynn when he couldn’t walk on a broken leg. He’d found that the lab was as state-of-the-art as anything in the training facility, if rather small for five hundred operatives to share.

Technically, Ze’ev thought that the standard for what was a medical emergency was probably lower than they used. But it was a mark of weakness to admit to injury, and most operatives powered through whatever they had to deal with.

Aziz had been willing to struggle through the day’s training. Brock had refused to let him, and ordered Betas Tsukino and Garson to get him to the hospital wing without jarring injuries.

“Who was Beta Sherazi’s opponent?” Jael asked.

Alpha Brock frowned. “I don’t know.”

“Oh?” Jael glanced at the rest of the pack, inviting an explanation.

“Omega Carter,” Beta Garson answered. “And Beta Strom contributed.”

“You fought another pack?” Jael glanced at the various injuries as if that answered a question he never asked. “I hope you won.”

Brock nodded once. “We did.”

That was a matter of opinion, Ze’ev thought. The battle had stopped when the lunch hour finished, about fifteen minutes after Tsukino snatched a piece of meat. Both packs had a single pack member injured enough to be sent to the hospital wing. Of course, there were only fourteen in the other pack, as Ze’ev had found out, so technically they had a better average.

Either way, Ze’ev understood the motivation to tell Jael they won.

“Well, you are one operative short. As you promised to take responsibility, Alpha Brock, that means you will go through the course twice, before we continue today’s mental exercises.”

Brock nodded obediently. That was no issue for him; Brock could go through the obstacle course twelve times before he became tired. Jael obviously didn’t care too much about Beta Sherazi skipping a training session, although if he wasn’t back by the next day-cycle there might be more issues.

Beta Rafe started the course, stepping in a way that made Ze’ev think he had a broken rib.

Keeping his posture straight, Ze’ev slowly let his eyes wander to the left. He could smell the direction their opponents had gone, and saw the thirteen still standing operatives, at attention.

Their thaumaturge wasn’t looking, and Ze’ev was sure he got a glimpse of a smile on most of them. With his ears strained, he thought he caught a snatch of a giggle. 

The other pack had enjoyed the battle as much as they had. Not necessarily the fact that it was a bloody fight, although Ze’ev didn’t doubt the blood was an appeal for at least some of them. But no, the pack probably also enjoyed the teamwork, the absolute proof that when it came to it their pack brothers would be willing to fight _for_ them too.

Or maybe Ze’ev was just projecting his own pleasure onto others as well.

Either way, the fight was worth the bruises.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do appreciate the kudos, I really do. But I'd also really, really love a comment. At least one comment for every five chapters isn't asking too much.


	6. Smell Like I Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ze'ev thought he had fourteen pack brothers. Turns out he had thirteen pack brothers and one pack sister.  
> (Or the chapter in which the an operative comes out as trans, and the biggest problem is 'wait you need a girls name now')

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. I just want it to be very clear here that I am cis. As such, this particular chapter might have some glaring error in realism or something. If so, I’m sorry; please drop me a line and I’ll do my best to fix it.
> 
> I try to avoid transphobia in this chapter. If I did it right, the most is a couple of boys raised in isolation who don’t know that transsexuality is a thing. After all, Marissa Meyer stated that in the future things like transphobia are only historical. For all of the Lunar monarchy’s flaws, this doesn’t seem like the sort of thing that Channary or Levana would try to bring back. But as before, if I’m wrong, please let me know.

**Chapter Six: Smell like I sound**

 

Ze’ev had been in the pack for what he (very roughly) estimated to be about three years. In that time, he’d learnt how to fight, how to shoot, how to kill. He knew dozens of techniques for deflect and use weapons, including each of his bio-modifications.

More than that, he’d also learned his pack mates.

He knew that Crater Brock was hostile and violent, but took his role as leader seriously and would protect his pack if it came to it. He knew that Tristan Wynn would accept anything resembling a dare and that Gibbous Troya always drew blood before letting a fight finish. Vanya Volkov hated being an operative but always tried to joke about it; Masaru Tsukino never wasted a move, moment, or word; Rille Baines hid every emotion but still felt them. Alex Rafe hated causing pain but would never hold back, while Eclipse Garson would pull every punch he could without completely destroying his status. José Lobo was always ready with a smile but no-one sensible would turn their back to him; Wane Becke was able to keep calm no matter what chaos exploded around him. Huang Liu was terrified of becoming omega but would only pick a fight with someone weaker; Emil Katona was terrified of pretty much everything; Aziz Sherazi was fearless but quite simply also talentless. And Ze’ev had known every detail about Omega Ran Kesley since the day his father introduced him to the small bundle wrapped in his mother’s arms.

There were things no-one would talk about, mostly due to the question of whether they were under surveillance. Still, Ze’ev was confident that he knew most details about his pack.

Every once in a while, he learnt something new, but it never surprised him. He either already had some subconscious idea, or it fitted perfectly with what he already knew about his teammate. Beta Troya’s news was no exception.

The pack was stripping off their uniform for the day, changing into sleepwear.

“Hey, everyone?” Beta Gibbous Troya called, throwing the regolith stained clothes into the laundry basket.

Everyone glanced around, although no-one stopped getting dressed.

Gibbous hesitated for a moment. “What’s the difference between boys and girls?”

A dozen blank stares met the question.

“What?” Beta Alex Rafe asked.

“What’s the difference between boys and girls?” Gibbous repeated. He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I’m not asking for an anatomy lesson, but there has to be something other than biology.”

“How about that girls don’t get conscripted into the lupine aspect of the army?” Beta Vanya Volkov suggested, moving to his bed.

“That’s a biology thing,” Beta Tristan Wynn pointed out. “The different hormones mean that the operations don’t take properly.”

“How do you know that?” Beta Aziz Sherazi asked.

“Before I came here, I asked my teacher why only boys got conscripted,” Tristan said with a shrug.

“What kind of differences?” Ze’ev asked Gibbous.

Gibbous folded his arms. “I don’t know,” he said grumpily. “Girls are supposed to like some things boys don’t, right?”

Ze’ev could vaguely remember a girl in his class, back in RM-9, arguing with a boy that girls didn’t have to like hairclips if they didn’t actually like them. But that had been an eternity ago – the only women Ze’ev had seen in three years were thaumaturges, and even they never interacted with Jael’s pack.

No-one said anything for a moment.

“I had a sister,” Beta Eclipse Garson said after a moment. “She used to pretend that one of her toys was her baby. She said that was just what girls did. I was never interested.”

“My cousin said the same thing with things to make her hair pretty,” Beta Huang Liu offered. “Our fathers worked in textiles and sometimes they were allowed to bring home little scraps. She wore them on her head and loved it.”

“Not all girls do, though,” Ze’ev said. “I think one of my classmates hated being told girls were supposed to like playing with their hair.”

“I think my old best friend loved to watch broadcasts so she could see fashions in Artemisia,” Beta Alex Rafe said.

“My brother lost a tooth once when he told a girl she wasn’t supposed to like getting dirty,” Alpha Crater Brock said. “No-one complained about her in the dust after that.”

“I think my mum used to play with dolls when she was a kid, because she kept it in a box.”

“My father always used to say that girls were better at cooking.”

“That can’t be right; my mother never did the cooking at home, only my dad did.”

“I had a girlfriend. She really liked to draw.”

“My stepmother always sung.”

“Maybe girls are less vicious.”

“I think everyone on Luna is less vicious than us.”

There was a slight ripple of laughter. Ze’ev wondered how much of it was self-loathing.

“I don’t think there’s something all girls have in common,” Tristan Wynn said finally. “I think they’re all different.”

 “Then how do you know the difference?” Beta Troya asked.

“Call them ‘she’ instead of ‘he’,” Ran suggested.

The omega lit up as the rest of the pack agreed with him.

Gibbous shifted uncomfortably, hopping from foot to foot. “I know. It’s just… I was thinking… I think maybe… I think I’m a girl.”

“Why?” Masaru Tsukino asked simply.

“I…” Gibbous faltered. “I don’t know. It’s just, ever since I was a kid, I always felt like I wasn’t… I never…”

“Can you be born a boy and decide you’re a girl?” José asked.

Gibbous growled. “If I say I can, I can.”

José bared his teeth in response to the growl, but sat back slightly, indicating that he wasn’t going to pursue a fight. “I was legitimately asking. I didn’t know that was a thing.”

“I think my cousin Richard used to be my cousin Crescent Moon,” Alex Rafe said thoughtfully.

Vanya Volkov clicked his fingers. “Good point, Alex. ‘Gibbous’ is a boy’s name. If you’re a girl, you need a new one.”

“I don’t need anything,” Beta Troya growled, but there was no real heat in her voice. She seemed to be legitimately thinking about it.

The pack was quiet for a moment, watching her curiously.

Ze’ev mentally tried to connect Gibbous with the girls he’d used to know, and concluded that Tristan had a point. Gibbous fitted in the mould as well as anyone, because there was no mould. Although now he thought about it, Beta Troya did tend to be somewhat modest when changing.

“I don’t know any girl names,” Beta Troya said finally.

“You could call yourself Selene,” Beta Rille Baines suggested. “Plenty of girls were named after the princess.”

“She died young and screaming,” José pointed out. “Maybe a bad idea.”

“How about Crescent?” Eclipse suggested. “It would be a nice counter to ‘Gibbous’ if you were a different phase of the moon.”

“Why be so different?” Tristan asked. “What about ‘Gabby’ or ‘Gibby’ or something?”

“Izzy?” Aziz suggested. “One of my classmates was called that.”

“How about Satellite?”

“Andromeda?”

“Yuki?”

“Stella?”

“I knew a girl called Tatanya.”

“Maha?” Ran suggested.

“Liana?”

“Ella?”

“What about Vermillion?”

“Orbit is kinda pretty.”

“Star?”

“Ludmilla?”

“Nanako?”

“Mary is a classic.”

“Alex?”

“Might get a little bit confused with Beta Rafe if you go with ‘Alex’.”

“Rhianne?”

“Solstice?”

“Enough,” Alpha Brock barked out.

The brainstorming cut off abruptly. Crater had been coming up with as many suggestions as anyone else, but apparently that was over. The pack all sat a little straighter with their alpha addressing them.

“This could go on all night,” Brock continued. “Lights out.”

Without waiting for Beta Troya to get to her bed, he flicked the switch. Darkness engulfed the barrack.

Eclipse got out of bed and began his nightly ritual of praying for faith and forgiveness.

Once he was done, Beta Troya hummed quietly. “Thanks,” she whispered, not looking at anyone as she crawled into bed. It was pretty much the most emotional display Ze’ev had ever seen from her.

**~**

Morning was announced when the lights flicked on automatically. Ze’ev immediately swung his legs out of bed, prepared for another day of training.

Beta Troya hopped off her top bunk, nearly flattening Beta Lobo as he began to emerge from his bed.

“Watch it,” Beta Troya growled at him.

“You nearly stepped on me,” José protested, but Beta Troya had already lost interest.

She stepped slightly into the middle of the room as the rest of the pack began meandering to the bathroom. “I picked a name,” she said.

There was a buzz of interest.

“That was fast,” Beta Rille Baines commented.

“How often do we really use first names in the pack anyway?” Beta Emil Katona asked rhetorically.

“So come on. How long you going to leave us in suspense?” Vanya asked the only girl.

Beta Troya grinned. There was hardly any malice in her smile at all. “Orbit. I’m Beta Orbit Troya.”

“Good to know,” Alpha Brock said calmly, nodding at her. “Now get dressed.”

Orbit nodded, and moved off to get a clean uniform out of her closet box.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are great, comments are even better.


	7. I Howl and I Whine; I'm After You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ze'ev's pack wouldn't be the only one to suffer in the training grounds, now, would they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So I may have skipped last week's update, but you get two this week to make up for it.  
> (And it's also really discouraging to have posted five chapters and not to have gotten a single comment)

**Chapter Seven – I Howl and I Whine; I’m After You**

 

Ze’ev had long since learnt how to tell when a group of traitors was being prepped for execution. There was always a grating noise as whatever vehicle was used to transport them came through the lava tubes. Once he knew to be alert, Ze’ev was usually able to smell strangers. The accused smelled differently from guards or thaumaturges on official business — the accused smelled like fear.

The operatives would prick their ears, and wait for any kind of signal which pack it was to kill. Some hoped it was their pack, others prayed that it wasn’t.

Master Jael’s pack had a total of three executions since Ze’ev had joined. It hadn’t gotten easier.

“Any chance that this group is ours?” Beta José Lobo asked, stretching. The pack had just finished a training session on the gun range, and Jael had walked off somewhere. Ze’ev thought he liked weapon training more than studying how to literally fight tooth and nail, but that might have just been because guns were so rare it broke monotony.

“They’re taken by Thaumaturge Patil’s pack,” Beta Wane Becke said, brushing the gunpowder off his fingers. “She’s already led them to the arena.”

Ze’ev felt his chest loosen slightly. Logically, the people would be just as dead, but at least he wouldn’t have to taste their blood.

“So how come Master Jael is going to watch?” Beta Tristan Wynn asked.

The rest of the pack looked around curiously. Jael was too far away for them to see clearly, but they could smell where he was and their eyes were redesigned to track movement. He was heading into the stands above the arena, the other thaumaturges following him.

The executions had never had an audience before.

Ze’ev glanced at the other twelve packs who were training in the same room that day. They were whispering to each other; Ze’ev could hear the same questions repeated throughout the room.

Then someone darted across the field towards the wall around the arena. Ze’ev thought his name was Alpha Xu. Xu clambered up a pile of mutilated punching bags that resting against the wall and peered into the arena. The rest of his pack was close behind him.

Lupine operatives hated to be shown up, even by another pack. Soon everyone was copying Alpha Xu’s example, climbing on whatever they could find in order to get a spot.

Ze’ev found himself clinging to the edge of the wall, his arms draped over the side to keep himself up. It wasn’t the most comfortable of positions, but it was less obvious to the thaumaturges and he had more than enough muscle to hold himself there — he could support himself for the full day if he’d wanted. He was some distance away, having been relegated to one of the worse spots available, but if he tried he could see fine.

“And today you shall pay penance for each of your crimes,” Thaumaturge Patil said dramatically to the accused, raising her hands. “Every betrayal was a metaphorical knife against the crown, but knives may be melted down and repurposed into something that can be used for a better purpose.”

The scene in the arena was familiar, but he’d never seen it from the outside.  Thaumaturge Patil stood in the middle of the ground, addressing two dozen traitors huddled against a wall. On the opposite side, her pack of eleven operatives standing behind her, straight backed and at attention.

Or at least, ten of them were straight backed. One of the betas was fidgeting. Ze’ev had seen him around without knowing his name, and thought that he was about halfway up his hierarchy.

The beta’s fingers were clenching and unclenching, and his foot was rapidly tapping. Even from this distance Ze’ev could tell that he was chewing on his lip, which was a serious sign of discomfort for someone with fangs. The pack member next to him nudged him with his elbow, but the beta only brushed it off and continued shifting nervously.

Patil would be furious at one of her charges being so blatantly improper. It was one thing to be reluctant, but Ze’ev was stunned that any operative could be that unprofessional in formation, especially with every thaumaturge watching in the stands.

The thaumaturges had noticed him. All eyes were on the beta, and there were expectant smiles across the court members.

“It is a great privilege for you to help serve Luna in this way,” Thaumaturge Patil continued. She glanced behind her. The beta managed to stop moving under her gaze, but went back to his fidgeting the moment she looked away.

“Privileges are only for the ruling class,” someone called out. “Why don’t you try this ‘privilege’ instead?”

So far Ze’ev had never seen any execution without at least one person who yelled out a last defiance. Every time made Beta Orbit Troya smile in admiration, but Ze’ev didn’t look to see her expression.

“Freddie, don’t,” a man hushed him.

The fidgeting beta flinched as if the words had physically hit him. Unbelievably, he broke formation and took a step forward.

“Dad!”

Silence dropped over the arena, thicker than the blankets in the barracks.

Ze’ev’s stomach lurched. His eyes darted to the side, to see horror on the face of every single operative watching, even the ones in the arena. The thaumaturges looked positively gleeful.

The man stared at the pack. Slowly, he began to approach.

 “Darcy?” he asked quietly. His voice nearly boomed in the absolute silence. “Darcy, is that you?”

The beta nodded once. He licked his lips, and then moved to walk forwards again.

“Beta Morrison,” Thaumaturge Patil said calmly, without looking at him. “Stay in formation.”

Instantly, the beta straightened and stepped back into the line.

His father started to close the gap between them, leaving the relative safety in the herd of traitors. “Darcy, you’re—”

The other ten pack members growled in unison. Judging by Thaumaturge Patil’s smile, Ze’ev thought she touched their bioelectricity to get that reaction.

The father stopped walking, but he didn’t retreat.

“As I was saying, you have been accused of treason,” Thaumaturge Patil said. “Your sentence will be swift and final.”

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” the father said, almost too quietly for Ze’ev’s enhanced hearing to pick up. “We had no idea what happened to you.”

Beta Morrison gulped audibly. He was still in formation, but had gone back to nervously fidgeting and wringing his hands.

“We tried to leave because of what happened to you,” the father said, taking another step forwards. “We didn’t want to stay on Luna.”

“We?” Beta Darcy Morrison repeated, and then flinched as soon as the word came out of his mouth.

His father nodded. “Your mother and I.”

“Where is—” Beta Morrison clamped his mouth shut halfway through the sentence.

“I think she made it to Earth,” his father said. “I hope so.”

Thaumaturge Patil tutted. “Beta Morrison, that man is a convicted criminal to be executed.”

Beta Morrison’s head snapped towards her, as if somehow he’d forgotten.

Thaumaturge Patil folded her arms. “Kill him.”

The father stood still, and looked at his son with wide eyes. Beta Morrison had grown very rigid.

Then, quietly, he whispered, “No.”

The single word fell on the assembled operatives like a bomb. No-one dared breathe.

“Excuse me?” Thaumaturge Patil said. “Are you disobeying a direct order?”

 “Yes,” Beta Morrison said quietly, eyes on the ground. “I am.”

The rest of Beta Morrison’s pack stared in horror.

In the stands, the other thaumaturges looked delighted. Ze’ev thought he heard Jael’s chuckle.

Thaumaturge Patil slowly tilted her head to the side, staring at Beta Morrison. Beta Morrison didn’t meet her gaze.

“I do not give suggestions. I give orders. My authority will not be questioned.”

Beta Morrison swallowed, but stayed quiet.

“I am your mistress, and I demand respect.” Thaumaturge Patil seemed to enjoy the theatrics. She was trying to keep a furious expression, but her lips twitched. “You will kill him.”

“Please-” Beta Morrison began, then hesitated.

“Silence,” Thaumaturge Patil said, although he’d already closed his mouth. “You will not question me.”

The father growled. It was odd to hear unaltered vocal cords growl. “Don’t talk to my son that way.”

Despite her best efforts, Thaumaturge Patil smiled. And then she schooled her face into a scowl that was actually less terrifying.

Mr Morrison sunk to his knees and clutched at his head. He moaned in the sickeningly familiar way of a traitor being assaulted with the Lunar gift. Behind him, the other prisoners whimpered.

“I do not enjoy disobedience,” Thaumaturge Patil claimed, her face lit up in cruel pleasure.

“No, mistress,” Beta Morrison said quietly. He tried not to look at his father. Even from a distance, Ze’ev could see that his attempt failed.

After a moment Thaumaturge Patil released her grip on Mr Morrison’s mind. The man scrambled to his feet, panting heavily.

“Not only have you betrayed our queen and our country by attempting to flee,” Patil said calmly, “but you have also openly defied a third-level thaumaturge, adding to your treason.”

“So what?” Mr Morrison spat.

Thaumaturge Patil tapped her perfectly manicured fingernails against her arm. “It would be far too much trouble to change your sentence to further reflect on this. After all, we have an audience.” She smiled at the thaumaturges who watched from the stands. Ze’ev was certain she knew about the operatives watching from behind the wall, but she didn’t acknowledge them.  “It’s merely proper protocol to state the new charges before your execution.”

Thaumaturge Patil paused to let her words sink in, and then clicked her fingers. The gesture was pure theatrics, as manipulating bioelectricity was a mental exercise.

Slowly, Beta Morrison’s lip began to curl. He growled.

Behind him, the rest of his pack stayed statuesque, fists to the chest.

Beta Morrison took a step forwards, an animal snarl rumbling out of his throat.

His father stood his ground. “Darcy,” he said simply. “Don’t.”

Beta Morrison hesitated for a moment. He looked confused and shook his head roughly. Then he resumed his approach.

Mr Morrison took a half-step backwards, and then grit his teeth. “I’m not afraid of you,” he said. His voice shook. “You’re my son. Whatever they did to you, they will never take that away.”

Beta Morrison had stepped into arm’s reach. His fingers flexed, clenching and unclenching rapidly.

“Darcy,” Mr Morrison said, reaching out a hand. He gently touched his son’s cheek.

Darcy stopped walking. Mr Morrison’s hand moved up his head to ruffle his hair, and Darcy leaned into the touch like any operative starved for familial affection.

“You’re my son,” Mr Morrison repeated.

There was a long, long moment of absolute stillness. Ze’ev stared at the two Morrisons and wondered what that would be like.

He glanced at Thaumaturge Patil. Her frown grew more pronounced as the seconds ticked on.

Then suddenly movement.

One of the other members of the pack – Ze’ev knew him vaguely as Alpha Drake – broke formation. He darted across the regolith floor and slammed shoulder-first into Beta Morrison.

Beta Morrison collapsed without resistance. Before Mr Morrison could react, Alpha Drake grabbed him by the neck and twisted his hands.

_Crack_.                         

Alpha Drake released the corpse, which flopped onto the ground. Wearily, he flexed his fingers.

Beta Morrison stared at him from his position on the dust.

Dismissively, Alpha Drake walked towards him. He dragged the beta off the ground, forcibly making him stand up. Once Beta Morrison had his feet firmly planted, Alpha Drake punched him twice – once in the stomach and once in the nose.

Beta Morrison doubled up, clutching at his stomach.

Any other operative, no matter how cowardly or how weak, would respond to that with a fight. Beta Morrison simply stood up, wiped at his bloody nose, and walked back into formation. The other operatives didn’t respond to him at all.

“Thank you, Alpha Drake,” Thaumaturge Patil said calmly.           

Alpha Drake spun around immediately, putting his fist to his heart. He nodded respectfully.

“You may rejoin your pack.”

Alpha Drake obeyed. His fist was covered in Beta Morrison’s blood. It was a gross breach of etiquette to wipe his hand on his shirt when he was supposed to be standing at attention, but Thaumaturge Patil ignored it.

“Now,” Patil said after allowing the silence to reclaim the arena. “The rest of them.”

She stepped out of the way between the operatives and the traitors. Howls arose in her wake.

Ze’ev was tempted to drop down from the wall but everyone else was still watching, and operatives hated to let themselves be shown up. He stayed.

Like every other execution in the arena, the condemned didn’t stand a chance.

**~**

The dining hall was never exactly quiet. Roughly five hundred living weapons packed together meant there were always shouts, brags, screams, insults, and occasionally howls. Still, the noise level seemed to be lower than normal at dinner.

Ze’ev took a seat at his pack’s table and wondered if he imagined the more subdued atmosphere. He glanced around sharply when Ran sat down next to him.

Ran ignored his look, and almost half-heartedly grabbed at the steak Ze’ev had clearly claimed. Ze’ev easily knocked his arm back, which Ran took with better grace than normal.

Neither brother said anything, but Ze’ev had to fight to hide his smile.

“What’s going to happen to Beta Morrison?” Beta Eclipse Garson asked. He was sitting halfway down the table, picking at a small sliver of meat. When Beta Huang Liu snatched it, Eclipse didn’t even respond.

“Nothing good,” Beta Vanya Volkov said grimly.

“They’re not here,” Alpha Brock said. He dug his nails into a particularly juicy piece of meat, pulling off smaller pieces as if he didn’t feel like biting. “Their table is empty.”

As one, the whole pack looked around to see what their alpha had pointed out.

The table that was normally headed by Alpha Drake was completely empty. Not even the trays of meat had been taken out.

It was surreal to see an area of absolute peace in the middle of the dining hall. No-one went close; even the packs with nearby tables had shuffled as far as they could move from it.

“Beta Morrison disobeyed orders,” Beta Rille Baines said quietly.

“The rest of the pack didn’t,” Beta Tristan Wynn said.

“Packs are teams,” Rille said. “One mistake is all it needs.”

That was a sobering thought. The idea that no matter how hard Ze’ev tried, someone else could ruin his chances unsettled him.

He tried not to think about what Darcy Morrison had been thinking when he tried to disobey orders.

“Reckon they’re dead or in surgery?” Beta Orbit Troya asked. She tried to sound blasé, but her voice cracked a little.

“What’s the difference?” Ze’ev asked her.

Orbit didn’t reply. Seemingly without realising she traced a small scar against her lip. It was one of those perfectly straight, almost healed scars that were reminders of their own surgeries.

There seemed to be more to say, but no-one ever discussed the surgeries. No-one wanted to discuss the price of treason either.

More to change the subject than any other reason, Beta Troya snatched Beta Wynn’s steak, making sure to catch him in the chest with her elbow. Beta Wynn took up the fight without hesitation.

The rest of the conversation petered out fairly soon as fights began to break out across the table.

The rest of the dinner finished like normal. Ze’ev ended up giving a relatively mild bruise to Ran’s shoulder. He may have exaggerated the amount of pain Ran’s retaliation punch had caused, but he would have denied it to anyone who asked.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment.


	8. By The Moonlight Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The packs to go to Earth have been selected. Those who fail outnumbered those who pass.

_Alpha Ze’ev Kesley._

Like every other operative, Ze’ev had fantasised about becoming alpha. He’d also fantasised about going home. It didn’t mean he ever expected it to happen.

It had been a little under a week since Ze’ev had been abruptly promoted. A week since the fights, a week since the Queen had been pleased with Ze’ev, a week since Brock had died. No-one had gotten used to it, let alone Ze’ev.

The change in status wasn’t like how Emil Katona and Aziz Sherazi used to switch who was omega, or when Ran took the position permanently. That had been unsurprising, even expected. But Alpha Brock always seemed invincible.

If it had been Beta Wynn, or even Beta Troya, then it might not have been such a shock. Tristan had nearly beaten Brock several times, and Orbit had come close once. Ze’ev had never been considered a contender.

Ze’ev had also never thought that he would be able to kill a pack member. Alpha Brock might have been violent, but was also loyal and protective and part of his family. They’d slept in the same room, eaten at the same table, and fought side by side. Brock couldn’t just be gone.

He sometimes wondered if the voice that had urged him to kill had been someone touching his bioelectricity, or his own instincts. He thought it was the result of a glamour, but couldn’t be sure that wasn’t wistful thinking.

Ze’ev had been unsurprised to notice his pack had started treating him differently after the fight in the arena. Vanya Volkov had made an unfunny joke about how the pack needed a third Kesley brother, “so that we can have an Alpha, a Beta, and an Omega Kesley.” Vanya had laughed when Ran growled at him, but Ze’ev only frowned and instantly his smile had dropped off.

As of yet, no-one had challenged Ze’ev since he’d broken Brock’s neck. He didn’t expect that to last long, but for the moment the others were giving him a reprieve. He thought that maybe he was supposed to challenge them — Alpha Brock certainly had done so regularly — but he had no interest in it.

On the sixth ‘day’ after the battle, the pack walked to a training room and stood in formation like they usually did. Ze’ev was well aware of the way everyone watched him, like they had since he snapped Brock’s neck, but ignored it.

Master Jael was waiting for them, tapping his foot although the pack wasn’t late. “We have an assembly today,” he said the moment they arrived.

For a moment Ze’ev expected Alpha Brock to ask for more details.

 “Why?” he asked after a second hesitation, hoping he still sounded respectful.

“To find out which packs have succeeded training.”

Everyone had already been at attention, but at Jael’s words everyone somehow straightened more, fists clenched tighter to their chests.

Jael smiled at Ze’ev. “I believe the Queen was impressed by your efforts. I will be very surprised to hear that you failed.”

Ze’ev nodded once, struggling to keep his face blank.

The pack was led to the arena and Jael left for the stands. The arena was filled to bursting, five hundred operatives huddled together.

There were growls from every direction, and one or two small fights. All in all, it was a muted gathering.

Even that mild noise faded away when a thaumaturge stood up on the stands. He was second-tier; the red robes stood out among the black worn by those in charge of packs. Ze’ev might have been more impressed by his rank if the Queen herself hadn’t stood there the week before.

“Operatives,” the thaumaturge said without preamble. “The royal court has decided which of your packs are to be sent to Earth. Those who were not selected will be sent off to further surgeries and training.”

It wasn’t quite whispers that broke out across the arena, but there were significant glances and nervous winces.

A few days earlier Ze’ev had been certain that he’d ensured victory for their pack. Still, his stomach clenched. Somewhere to his left, he heard Beta Eclipse Garson whispering a prayer.

“There have been fifteen packs selected, to be sent to fifteen different Earthen cities. The pack in Barcelona will be headed by Thaumaturge Tahir.”

Up on the stands, a woman smiled proudly. Ze’ev heard a sigh of relief from a group somewhere behind him.

“New Beijing — Thaumaturge Adams.” Another smile, another sigh. “Mumbai — Thaumaturge Chen. Tokyo — Thaumaturge Silva. Manila — Thaumaturge Orlov. Paris — Thaumaturge Jael.”

Ze’ev felt tension release from his body abruptly; he nearly wilted from relief, and only the five years of training kept him at attention. He wasn’t exactly surprised, but the confirmation was the best thing he’d heard since he’d been conscripted.

Around him, Ze’ev could see the rest of the pack wore a smile, no matter how hard they tried to mask it. Eclipse’s prayer had turned from pleading to repeating ‘thank You’. Jael, in the stands, looked unsurprised but pleased.

“Mexico City — Thaumaturge Maki. New York — Thaumaturge Avraham. Sao Paolo —Thaumaturge Grant. Cairo — Thaumaturge Narang. Lagos — Thaumaturge Bosch. London — Thaumaturge Aritza. Moscow — Thaumaturge Delaney. Istanbul — Thaumaturge Katsaros. Sydney — Thaumaturge Sadik.”

The list stopped abruptly. Fifteen names was not a lot when there were fifty packs.

Murmurs, whispers, gasps, and sobs broke out across the arena. Ze’ev tried not to react as around him his neighbours broke down.

Some were frantically blinking back tears, trying to stay professional; some weren’t even attempting to avoid crying. Some were clutching at others for comfort, gripping neighbour’s hands or wrapping their arms around them fully. Some had dropped to their knees. Expressions ranged from despair to resignation, from unsurprised to shaken.

The dismay coloured the air. It didn’t completely destroy Ze’ev’s relief, but it put a heavy weight on his elation.

“Other packs will report tomorrow for further modifications,” the second-tier thaumaturge said simply, causing another almost tangible wave of despair.

Out of respect, Ze’ev bit his lip to hide his smile. He noticed Beta Huang Liu and Beta José Lobo copied him, which quickly spread to the rest of the pack.

“Dismissed.”

The crowd started moving for the door. It was hard going to get through — some operatives had burst outside, desperate for space, but most had turned sluggish.

Ze’ev knew as alpha it was his responsibility to carve out a path, but he had no motivation to shove his comrades. His pack followed obediently; only Ran seemed disgruntled at his refusal to push past.

They progressed slowly through the stunned masses, awkwardly manoeuvring around those who had frozen. Finally, they escaped into the less crowded corridors.

Once outside, they stopped and took a moment to breathe.

José started to laugh. It began as a small, insistent giggle, before quickly turning into full-blown cackling. Then Alex Rafe joined in. Then Vanya Volkov.

Orbit Troya didn’t laugh, although her smile nearly went from ear to ear. Instead, she raised her face towards the surface above them and called her victory.

“ _Aaaaroooooooo!_ ”

The howl was even more infectious than the laughter. In a moment Masaru Tsukino, Tristan Wynn, and Huang Liu had added their voices.

Ze’ev gave up on decorum and howled. That seemed to be the last straw for most of the pack, who happily joined in the delighted screams to the ceiling.

Somewhere nearby, another pack joined in the celebration. The sound echoed, almost tasting of relief.

And then a third group began to howl, without a hint of pleasure.

The howls spread throughout the entire training facility. Some were excited, but they were overshadowed by the sense of mourning permeated by most.

Ze’ev kept howling, shouting out a savage, selfish joy that merged with the operative’s horror.

“ _Aaaaarrrrooooooo!_ ”

**~**

The pack had stayed up for hours after Ze’ev turned the lights off, talking about Earth. No-one had a clear idea where Paris was. Huang Liu insisted it was in the ‘Umerikan Republic’, while José Lobo had argued that it was ‘Yuuropian Union’. An argument like that might have normally resulted in a brawl, but the mixture of excitement and pity made the bloodlust shrink.

When he finally managed to get to sleep, Ze’ev dreamed of needles.

The next day period, Ze’ev hopped out of the bed that used to belong to Alpha Brock, and moved to wake up the rest of his pack. Judging by the expressions that remained haunted for a few seconds, he wasn’t the only one to sleep badly.

“Breakfast,” Ze’ev instructed after everyone had washed. It sounded stupid to be stating the obvious, and it caused a couple of smirks among the pack. He tried to remember what Alpha Brock used to say as they left the barracks, but couldn’t.

All the packs filed into the dining hall at the same time. On a normal day, the crush to get in was somewhat dialled down first thing in the morning. Today, it seemed almost dead.

Ze’ev pushed his way through the shuffling operatives, trying to be as gentle as he could while forcing a path. He wasn’t sure if the rest of his pack followed his lead, or if everyone wanted to keep violence to a minimum. It was probably a mixture of both.

Despite holding back, their pack was one of the first to reach their table. Beta Troya picked a fight with Beta Volkov over a piece of steak, bringing back some semblance of familiarity.

Beta Wynn tried to snatch a piece of meat from Ze’ev. He caught Beta Wynn’s hand before it touched the meat, and he knew to duck before Tristan even threw the punch. Once he dodged the blow, it was easy to bring his palm up and smash into Beta Wynn’s face.

His ability to predict was definitely coming in handy.

“Where’s Alpha Basurto’s pack?” Ran asked, trying to act as if the bruise Aziz Sherazi gave his arm didn’t hurt.

Several pack members glanced around.

Ze’ev wasn’t entirely sure where Alpha Basurto normally sat – he only had a vague idea of who each pack’s alpha was – but after a quick count there were only forty-eight tables full. Alpha Drake’s table was still given distance, but one table had been filled with food and no-one was there to eat it.

“Were they a group that passed training?” Tristan Wynn asked.

“No,” Rille Baines said without looking away from the table.

Ze’ev wondered if they had run. It was stupid for anyone to think it would work, but if he’d failed training he might have tried.

He put it out of his mind. It felt selfish to ignore every other operative, but there was nothing he could do.

Breakfast finished with an awkward atmosphere. There was relief and excitement at the table, contrasting badly with the outside mood. Ze’ev was glad to be able to head off to the day’s training.

Jael was waiting for them. His broad smile was even more unsettling than the false care he normally wore.

“Today will be mostly studies,” the thaumaturge said, once the pack was in formation. “You are to be blending in on Earth for several months, possibly years, and Her Majesty feels as if you will need a better understanding to do so.”

No-one spoke, but there was a breath of interest.

Jael nodded, and turned around to lead the way. The pack followed him without prompting.

They had barely reached the first lava tube/corridor when a burst of commotion made all fourteen pack members look around with varying levels of subtlety.

“What is it?” Jael asked.

It took a second for Ze’ev to realised he was the operative expected to answer. “I – we can hear – the doors that prisoners are usually transported in have been opened,” he said. Too late he remembered to salute while talking, but the lapse only seemed to amuse Jael.

“Lunar citizens accused of treason, or Thaumaturge McCarthey’s pack?” Jael clearly expected that his pack had already heard rumours about an attempted escape.

Ze’ev wasn’t sure of the answer. He couldn’t smell anything unfamiliar, though, which he thought might mean that the prisoners in transport had been there before.

“I think they’re operatives,” he said hesitantly, then forced himself to hold his head up high. “Although I can’t be certain.”

“Only logical,” Jael agreed, continuing on his walk. The pack hurried to follow. “We weren’t expecting any traitors today, although I have to admit the operatives were gone longer than I expected.”

Ze’ev wondered whether the runaways had snuck out only minutes before the rest of the operatives woke up, or if they had been gone for hours. He wasn’t brave enough to ask.

After almost five years in the facility, Ze’ev knew each route better than he knew the ever-changing pattern of scars on his skin. He wasn’t entirely sure which room had been refitted for Earthen lessons, but it only took a few moments to realise that Jael was taking a roundabout way to it, going via the arena where the prisoners were transported.

As they approached, the door opened. A vaguely-familiar thaumaturge walked out, leading a group of twelve operatives. They were dragging their feet, shoulders slumped and heads bowed. Judging from the expressions, Thaumaturge McCarthey was stabbing at her pack’s bioelectricity.

“Thaumaturge Jael,” she said cordially, showing no surprise to see him there.

“Thaumaturge McCarthey,” Jael nodded back. “I see you found your… discipline problem.”

“I take it as a refusal to accept failure,” Thaumaturge McCarthey said thoughtfully. She stopped walking, and forced the line behind her to halt. “Which is what we have been teaching, if a little misunderstood.”

Despite her polite tone towards Master Jael, Thaumaturge McCarthey’s smile was somewhat forced. Her pack whimpered under a mental assault.

“Of course, of course,” Thaumaturge Jael agreed easily.  “Have you planned a punishment?”

McCarthey shook her head, ever so dignified. “I’m not sure an official response is necessary. Any insubordination is to be removed shortly.”

One of the betas had tears streaking down his face, although he didn’t make a sound.

“Congratulations, however, on your promotion,” McCarthey said. “When will it be made official?”

“I believe technically I’m already second-level,” Jael said with a smile. “However, my robes and paperwork are not quite ready, so I suppose the definition of ‘official’ is under debate.”

“I’m pleased for you,” McCarthey said. It was impossible to tell if she was genuine; thaumaturges wrapped every word in layers. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I have other matters to which to attend.”

Jael inclined his head politely, and then the two thaumaturges continued on their way with their respective packs following. Ze’ev didn’t risk looking back.

Within a few moments, Jael’s pack went into one of the smaller training rooms, which had been set up with desks and an unfamiliar third-level thaumaturge waiting in the front. A picture of an Earthen city was projected onto the wall, with a caption reading _Paris_.

“Good morning,” the thaumaturge said. He looked a little uncomfortable at the genetically modified operatives in front of him. “Please collect your stationary and a notebook.”

“Without fighting,” Jael added. “They’re all the same and I would be most displeased should any notebook be ripped.”

The pack tapped their chests in unison, and then each picked a small notebook and pen from a pile. There was no fighting to get a desk, although there was some growling that badly unsettled the teacher. Ze’ev wasn’t entirely sure which desk was considered good, but he took one in the front row and hoped for the best.

Holding the pen felt unnatural. There had been a few occasions to read in the past few years, with manuals and instructions handed out. Ze’ev hadn’t written anything since he’d been conscripted. Thankfully, the first lesson seemed to be about how to avoid the urge to glamour Earthens, which wasn’t an option anyway. Ze’ev spent the time working out how to write legibly.

It was a good distraction from dwelling on the fate of the other operatives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I did a fair amount of maths for this chapter. I'll give a quick overview of the highlights so you can know where I'm coming from.
> 
> In Scarlet, Kai theorised there were about 300-400 operatives on Earth. But even that was an exaggeration because of the casualty amount. Fifteen packs, and each pack ranges between 6-15 members (well, one of those packs was definitely 14 members). That means at most there were 224 lupine operatives running rampant on Earth, and at minimum 98. It was probably closer to 161.
> 
> As for why there are fifteen packs instead of fourteen – well, I'm positive that the pack that attacked Rieux could not have been Ze'ev's. Cinder tranquilized two of them, and there were still enough operatives that she heard 'half a dozen howls'. Taking 'half a dozen' literally and assuming there were six, means that there were about eight soldiers in Rieux. There are only two operatives unaccounted for in Paris, not to mention Jael explicitly said they were a full pack.
> 
> For the record, it's the Barcelona pack that I added from Kai's list. There are a couple of Rieux's in France, and Rieux-Volvestre is the closest to Toulouse. This means that technically Barcelona is a closer major city than Paris is.
> 
> TL;DR – There were fifteen packs on Earth, meaning around a hundred and sixty operatives passed.


	9. Earth is afire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack's first moments on Earth.

The training facility had felt hollow for the past two months. Five hundred operatives had dropped down to a hundred and fifty. The boasts, howls, and screams echoed.

Ze’ev had gotten used to the facility in the past few years, but the empty rooms made him long to leave again.

Earthen studies quickly melded into the monotony. Training increased; Jael was determined that his pack did not relax standards.

Somehow, Ze’ev managed to stay alpha. By a considerable margin, no less. His scars and bruises increased, but no-one came close to unseating him. He thought that it confused him most.

Finally, the day of the trip arrived.

Clothes were neatly packed away into the duffel bags that had been provided. Master Jael had told them to wear their formal uniforms, which ranged from in pristine condition to only a little ripped and bloodied. Ze’ev spent five minutes trying to tuck away a gash in the bottom of his shirt before he gave up.

Alex Rafe was on his knees, peering under each bed.

“What are you looking for?” Wane Becke asked. “Do you even have any possessions?”

“I’d hate to get to another planet and realise I left my shoe behind,” Alex replied.

“You’re wearing both shoes,” Aziz Sherazi said.

“I was giving an example.”

“Earth might be more primitive then Luna,” Masaru Tsukino said, “but I think you could find shoes there.”

“More primitive?” Eclipse Garson repeated. “What part of lessons gave you that idea?”

“It’s not Luna,” Rille Baines said.

“They have androids.”

“They don’t have the Lunar gift,” Orbit Troya said.

“Neither do we,” Ze’ev interjected.

“We don’t need it,” Orbit replied, seemingly not realising that Earthens didn’t either.

Ze’ev didn’t care enough to make it an argument. Orbit had kept her nails sharpened even after Brock died, and he wanted his formal uniform to stay neat by the time they saw Jael.

“Is everything packed?” he asked instead.

“Technically aren’t we always ‘packed’?” Vanya Volkov said.

It took a moment for Ze’ev to realise it was a play on being wolves, but once he did he had to bite the corner of his lip to hide his smile. “Not what I was asking,” he said.

“I think we’ve got everything,” Alex said, standing up and brushing off his knees. “Nothing under the beds, at least.”

“I don’t think anyone has anything to leave,” Wane said.

Ze’ev nodded. “We only have a few minutes until we need to meet Master Jael. We should probably go.”

There was no rational reason why they should leave for a one minute walk ten minutes before they were expected, but Ze’ev didn’t want to wait in the barracks. He paused to see if anyone had any objections – not that he was entirely sure how to handle it if they did – before scooping up his bag and leading the way out.

Alpha Brock wouldn’t have carried his own bag. Most likely, he’d have shoved it onto the omega. Reluctance to abuse his power aside, Ze’ev was certain that Ran would figure out something vicious to do to his clothes, and he didn’t want to start his Earthen journey by beating up his little brother. Better to risk looking weak and hope it came off as considerate.

Ze’ev headed through the facility for the last time. He expected to feel a little thoughtful, if not outright nostalgic, but all he felt was an intense desire to go. The scent of the operatives who had left was obvious.

Despite being early, Jael was waiting for them, red robes neatly pressed.

“Good,” he said, sweeping his gaze over the pack. “I trust you’re all ready?”

“Yes, Master Jael,” the pack said in unison.

Jael nodded, and then walked off. The group followed.

As they approached the same door Ze’ev had entered through five years ago, he tried to avoid wrinkling his nose. The scent of old operatives was getting steadily stronger—

He nearly tripped over his own feet when he saw that several packs of lunar soldiers were standing in the arena.

Ever since Ze’ev had first seen an image of soldiers, he had been subconsciously exaggerating the inhuman traits, giving them claws the length of swords, rows of teeth that did not fit in their mouths, skin completely carpeted with fur, hunched posture that defined beastly, and a gaze that went beyond bloodlust to outright animal. Their actual appearance was more mundane, but it was apparent that they were never expected to blend in on Earth. Covered in hair that couldn’t quite be called fur, too many teeth for a single mouth but still able to close jaws, bulging muscles and a terror-inducing height, and eyes glinted with bloodlust that would not look out-of-place on an operative.

The soldiers stood almost at attention, but not quite. Not by the standards of operatives, who stood statue-still when thaumaturges watched. The soldiers twitched, fidgeting against some animalistic urge surging beneath their skins.

Ze’ev caught the eye of one of them accidentally, and was struck by how much more human they seemed then he expected. He couldn’t quite place the emotion; despair, fear, and horror mingled together.

Then the soldier wrinkled their nose and scowled, and suddenly switched back to hunger and anger.

Ze’ev couldn’t help a shudder. Ran looked disgusted at the display of weakness. He was annoyed at his brother’s glare, as he was far from the only one unnerved by the soldiers, high-ranking Troya and Wynn among them.

The soldiers disconcerted Ze’ev enough that he didn’t notice the first time in years that he left the training facility. He only realised how momentous it was as Jael led them to a personal shuttle.

“Alpha Kesley, if you wouldn’t mind,” Jael said, gesturing to the control screen with one hand as he fished in his new red-robes for his netscreen.

“Of course, Master Jael,” Ze’ev said instinctively, although he hated it when Jael phrased orders as a request.

He took a step forward and frowned at the control screen, which shone dimly. He had a vague memory of using public shuttles, but although his prints had been in the system since birth there hadn’t been an awful lot of occasions to travel as a child.

Hoping for the best, Ze’ev pressed five fingertips to the control screen.

It warmed under his skin.

“Welcome, Alpha Ze’ev Kesley, Lunar Special Operative Number 9-6-2,” a disembodied voice said as the door opened. He wondered when his prints had been updated to say not only was he an operative, but an alpha. “Where shall I take you?”

Ze’ev glanced over his shoulder at Jael.

“The palace station,” Jael answered absently, tapping on his netscreen.

Ze’ev relayed the information as they stepped inside. Jael took the furthest seat from the rest of the pack, possibly so that the almost light-hearted fight over who got which seat wouldn’t distract him from his email. It was the sort of petty fight Ze’ev used to avoid, but as alpha he felt obligated and beat Beta Masaru Tsukino out for one of the better seats.

Almost as soon as he claimed the chair the shuttle started slowing in down. Ze’ev had never realised just how close the palace was. Jael swept to his feet, still typing, and led the pack outside, up through a set of stairs, and into the city.

The station wasn’t entirely dissimilar to the training facility, both underground and full of people working, but for a group that had seen a limited amount of rooms in years it felt like an entirely different world.

A million different scents filled the area. Tens of thousands of people had passed through on transport vehicles that were nothing like the technology operatives saw in training. Spices and flavours that made Ze’ev’s mouth water without any idea how they tasted were blown on artificial wind.

Jael was unmoved. He barely looked up from his screen as he headed through the station, with a trail of vicious lupine-hybrids scrambling to keep up.

As they walked people parted for them, giving them a wide circle of space. It was quite possible they were showing respect to the second-level thaumaturge, but Ze’ev couldn’t help but feel pleased.

Orbit waved at one girl, smiling with more teeth than strictly necessary. The girl squealed and darted into the hover she was unloading, making Orbit laugh.

“Thaumaturge Jael,” someone said, and Ze’ev turned to see a woman in a pressed uniform tap her shoes together. “I trust you’re well?”

“I’m fine,” Jael said, still tapping on his screen. “How are you, Captain Diaz?”

“Well, thank you.” The woman tapped on a nearby ship, which looked to be roughly the size of the barracks. “This is to be our trip to Earth.”

Jael looked up in order to inspect it. He smiled. “It looks impressive. Do you mind if I take a picture? My son is quite concerned about my trip.”

“Of course, this is a non-classified model,” the captain said agreeably. She stepped aside in order for him to take the picture. “Would you mind if I asked how old young Cameron is now?”

“He turned eight only two long-days ago.”

“Getting older,” the captain said with a smile. She turned to the operatives. Her smile flickered slightly, but she didn’t flinch. “You can board into the back now. I understand there will most likely be a fight or two inside, but try to avoid damaging the ship.”

The operatives saluted, shrugged, or laughed, but the captain seemed satisfied. She showed Jael into the luxurious room up front while the operatives crowded into their area.

Ze’ev had no idea how ships were normally set up, or whether a lack of seating was normal. Judging from the smell he thought it was probably a cargo ship usually. He wondered if most cargo holds had windows.

The door locked securely behind them. After a second the ship began to shake.

Everyone crowded towards the window. Ze’ev almost stepped out of the way, but when Huang Liu moved aside for him he remembered he was alpha. The urge to keep his status sent him forward, nudging Orbit out of the way. She snarled at him, but didn’t retaliate; Brock would have thrown her completely away, whereas Ze’ev barely tapped.

They zipped out of the station. Everyone gasped as they saw Artemisia below them, shining even through it’s dome. People that looked like specks moved around on the ground with a thousand jobs to do.

As the city shrunk, more of Luna came into view. The sun was shining on one side, making the rock itself glimmer. Every sector in that area was a spot of white.

Ze’ev wondered where RM-9 was.

They stared out the window until the sectors became indistinguishable spots against the moon’s surface. Then Beta Wane Becke moved out of the way, letting Ran scramble to try and see out the window.

“How come Earth doesn’t shoot us down?” Wane asked thoughtfully, glancing in the direction they were travelling.

“Because they haven’t got the technology to reach us,” Beta Alex Rafe suggested.

“We’re getting closer every second, genius,” José said.

Alex jabbed him in the neck. The two exploded into a fistfight. The rest of the pack delicately moved around them.

“They were able to get to Luna in the first place,” Vanya said over the familiar sound of fighting. “I don’t think Earth tech would have regressed.”

“They can, they’re probably too cowardly to risk a fight,” Aziz said.

“Can’t be,” Ze’ev said. “It doesn’t take bravery to blow us out of the sky.”

“Unless they’re afraid of war,” Emil Katona said.

“Yeah, but we’re coming in order to start a war anyway,” Tristan Wynn said. “If they knew we were here, it would be the only sensible thing.”

“So you don’t think they know about us?” Huang Liu asked.

“Makes sense. We are undercover,” Masaru Tsukino said. “The ship would be hidden in some way.”

“Does it matter?” Rille Baines asked, bored.

“It’ll matter if they shoot us down,” Orbit said.

“Not really. What’s talking going to do to stop it?” Ran pointed out.

Ze’ev looked out the window. Luna was very visible, but it was getting hard to pick out details.

It was an odd feeling. It wasn’t anything like the ache when he’d left RM-9; it was a change but not a loss. The training facility had been familiar and sometimes almost comforting, but it was never home. There wasn’t even anyone he would miss personally, since the packs didn’t mingle.

Ze’ev didn’t fool himself that he could find a home on Earth. Still, he had no reason to expect it would be any worse, and it was very possible things would get better.

**~**

It took almost two hours to reach Earth. During that time, five fights broke out, more to break the tedium than to improve status. Special operatives were not good at sitting and waiting.

Finally, the ship landed and the captain walked around to unhatch the cargo door.

Ze’ev took a sharp breath as for the first time in his life, he smelled real fresh air, held in an atmosphere instead of a dome. Almost in a trance, he wandered out of the ship.

There were trees. More than the few scattered plants that grew in most sectors to help filter air, these were diverse behemoths that towered over them. Dirt crushed under his military boots, far gentler than regolith coating rock would ever be.

The ship had landed in a forest, with Luna visible above them. There was a scent of humans somewhere nearby, but after living underground with five hundred companions, Ze’ev felt as if they were alone.

Unfamiliar smells and sounds came from every direction. Ze’ev tilted his head in the direction of a rustle, and saw a small animal scurry up a tree. Something else was scurrying away from them, most likely afraid of the ship. A hundred meters away there was a nest of baby birds, cheeping madly.

Luna had a limited amount of wildlife, mostly species necessary for human survival, but it could in no way compete with an Earthen forest.

There was a rumble as the ship took off again, with the captain unwilling to spend too much time on Earth. Ze’ev glanced around. The rest of the pack was staring at their new surroundings with the same awe. Eclipse Garson had dropped his bag entirely.

Jael smiled, taking a deep breath of the clean Earthen air. “Shall we move?” he asked as if his orders were optional. “I’m given to understand that there is a Lunar building somewhere nearby. Alpha Kesley, can you tell where it would be?”

“Yes, Master Jael,” Ze’ev said, as he instantly straightened. “About two minutes walk in that direction.”

Jael gestured for him to lead the way, which Ze’ev hastened to obey. The rest of the pack fell into a march behind him.

It didn’t take long before they found the building. He didn’t have a recent frame of reference regarding how big an ordinary building was, but he vaguely thought that it was the size of the house he’d lived in as a child. Judging from the materials, it might have been a temporary construction.

Jael overtook Ze’ev in order to invite the pack inside. They stepped into bright lights, which contrasted badly against the dim forest.

“Master Jael,” the woman sitting behind a desk stood up respectfully. “You’re early.”

“I am. I trust that’s not a problem?” Jael asked, a glint of steel in his smile.

The woman bowed her head. “Of course not, we’re completely prepared.” She placed a small box on her desk, and then rummaged for a cloth bag and a metal kit.

She unravelled the cloth, revealing a selection of scalpels, and then opened the kit to reveal more medical supplies.

“Who’s first?” she asked, looking at the pack.

Ze’ev froze, his expression carefully neutral. His eyes darted between the syringe in her hands and the way blood drained from his packmates faces.

Jael glanced back at them, frowning slightly from a lack of volunteers. “Alpha Kesley.”

Ze’ev jolted, putting a hand to his heart without even thinking about it. “Sir?”

Jael frowned, gesturing him forward. “Now.”

It was only the reminder that they had passed training that let him move his feet without needing Jael to touch his bioelectricity. Ze’ev stepped forward, and then stood in front of the woman.

“Left arm, please,” the woman said politely.

Ze’ev slowly extended it.

She gripped his forearm along the tattoo, and pulled it closer to her. With her other hand she lined up the syringe she was holding, and jabbed it into his wrist. He couldn’t help the slight hiss – not quite of pain, he had too many worse scars for that – as the needle was inserted.

“Just a local anaesthetic,” the woman said absently. She reached for the small box on her desk and opened it, revealing a selection of small chips.

Finally, Ze’ev pieced together the information and worked out that he was getting the ID chips discussed in their Earthen studies classes. He felt slow for not having worked it out earlier, but it didn’t make him feel any more comfortable as the doctor picked up one of her scalpels.

He looked away so he didn’t see her cut into his skin. The anaesthetic worked perfectly and immediately; he didn’t feel a thing.

After a few moments she let go of his arm. Ze’ev saluted instantly and stepped back.

Once he was in formation, he looked at his wrist. A short way below the tattoo marking him as an operative, there was a small white bandage that he hadn’t even felt being wrapped around his arm.

“Next,” the woman said, dropping the bloody scalpel and syringe into a small tube leading through the walls. She picked up a fresh set.

Beta Tristan Wynn stepped forwards, and within minutes the entire pack had matching bandages. The feeling was already starting to come back to Ze’ev’s wrist; the local anaesthetic was incredibly specialised.

“Master Jael, the hover to take you to the city will arrive in approximately two hours,” the doctor said, packing away her scalpel.

Jael frowned. “I was given to believe that we were only a few minutes early.”

“I apologise on their behalf,” the woman replied, not sounding particularly sorry. “The plague is causing a serious delay on the roads.”

“Is there no way to bypass the quarantined zones?” Jael asked, irritated.

“Not without drawing serious attention to an undercover mission.”

Jael sighed. “I suppose there is nothing to be done.”

“Again, I apologise.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jael said simply, without any real compassion. He waved at the pack. “You may stretch your legs. I daresay the trip has left you restless.”

“Yes, Master Jael,” Ze’ev said, although he wasn’t sure if he should have said that their discipline was fine. “Thank you, Master Jael.”

Not allowing himself to falter, Ze’ev left the building. The rest of the pack followed him, orderly at first but turning into a sprint the moment they stepped on dirt. Ze’ev led the way as they ran through the forest, smashing through branches and barely feeling the sting.

“We made it!” José shouted, punching the air with a fist.

“We’re on Earth!” Alex said.

Orbit laughed shrilly. “Finally!”

Rille Baines wore a bigger grin than Ze’ev had ever seen on his face. He threw his head back and howled.

It seemed like a good idea. Ze’ev let out his own victory howl, setting off the rest of the pack.

They were only looking up for better aerodynamics, but with his face pointed to the sky Ze’ev’s stared at the silver orb hanging in the sky. A smile nearly ruined his howl, but he couldn’t stop.

_Earth_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are always appreciated.


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